No, this post is not about the First Lady. Though I do admit her DNC speech did make me tear up, specially, on the part where she talked about her Dad walking up the stairs, tired and worn-out after an honest day’s work. Something about that little fact from her life resounded deep within me. Yes, my Dad was like hers. Sacrificing his life, doing a job he didn’t like for his children. Just because that was the right thing to do.
But that wasn’t quite it.
Then I realized why. It reminded me of a book. The book which has always been closest and dearest to my heart. A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. Oh! Francine. Francine. You have moved me more than any other protagonist in the world. The closeness to your father, the adoration and sometimes hatred of your mother’s resilience, the kinship with your snotty younger brother, your dreams, the throwing off of the last dregs of a much hard-earned cup of coffee just because you felt like it. Francine. If you had existed, I would have married you. Gender notwithstanding. But then. You do exist. Deep within me. Still. That young girl lost in books with dreams that surpass the normality of life. You remain withing me. You keep me hopeful.