In honor of Father’s Day, I will be interrupting your regularly scheduled blog post to talk about my dad…
My dad, Charlie Meyer spent his career as a psychiatrist helping people sift through their struggles. People who worked with him during this time have told me what a wonderful, well respected doctor he was. And back when I was a kid, even though he was listening to adolescents all day long he somehow was willing to come home and listen to my teenage angst-filled concerns.
When I was a kid, I always felt my safest around my Dad. His calm, centered presence gave me comfort, when things felt out of whack. He was a rock in an otherwise unpredictable life. As a teen, he and I occasionally spent evenings and time in the car talking about people. Not in a catty way, but in an analytic one. We talked about why people do what they do, their motivations, and their fears. I am certain that my love for character development in my books stems from our talks.
Like my mom, Dad has a wonderful, slightly twisted sense of humor that showed itself best around the dinner table, when discussions lead to wonderfully inappropriate topics.
And although it’s ironically Freudian, I really believe that I was able to find such a wonderful husband, because I had my dad as a reference point to what a good man really is. How lucky I’ve been!
My dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in the Eighties. He is now in assisted living in Madison, Wisconsin. He is too far away and I miss him. Talking on the phone works, but it’s hard. I’d much rather be with him in person to sit by his side. We drive north to Wisconsin in just a few days. I can’t wait to see him.
Much of who I am is because of my dad. I’ve learned to think critically, love my children deeply, respect and cherish the people around me—even strangers I meet on the street— because of what he’s taught me. Inspired by my dad, I seek a message of truth, passion and self-reflection in my words. I am one lucky daughter. Thanks Dad!