Lessons Through The Hazy Pipe Smoke

Everytime the memories of my late father drift gently into my thoughts, I can almost smell once again the strong aroma of his pipe smoke. My dad always travelled with a book in his hand, and a pipe in his shirt's front pocket. Every free moment that he had will be spent holed up in a corner of a library or bookstore, his head buried in a heavy tome. He can speak at great lengths on a diverse of topics from history to politics to science to economics. I was constantly the envy of my friends growing up especially the older ones who always sought him for reference on these heavy topics of wisdom.

My dad always encouraged me to explore the great tomes of knowledge with the same zest of passion that he himself possessed. Possessions and materialism meant little to him, and I was taught from a young age that the greatest possessions of life are that which are amassed through the love for the written words. The treasures garnered through the intellectual journey can never be stolen, forcefully taken away, or trodden over.

My father had always taught me to never compromise my integrity, identity, and principles for anybody or anything. "Those are the real treasures of your life," he taught me.

My uncles had always complained that my dad was over idealistic and too much of a dreamer. To me, my dad was a great and inspiring human being. A person I am proud to have known, the person who had influenced my life the most.

The years may keep marching by, his face may become hazier surrounded by his pipe smoke in my memories as time passes along, but I will steadfastly hold onto his words, his lessons imparted, and his idealistic principles that I share, for I am who I am because of my dad, my Pa.