The First Paul (a.k.a Daddy)
One of my son’s middle names is Paul, after his grandpa, my dad. My mom and I were recently talking about how sweet it is to see a little piece of my dad carried forward in this boy we love so much.
My dad passed away sixteen years ago this August. He would have been turning 79. As I’m writing this, I just said to Derek, “In three more years, I’ll have lived longer without my dad than I did with him.” It’s strange how time works. Hard to wrap my head around, because in so many ways, it still feels like yesterday. I can still hear his voice.
When I was in elementary school, my dad drove a VW Bug, not unlike the one in this picture. At the time, I was mortified to be dropped off at school in it. Kids and teasing, you know how it goes.
If only I’d known then how cool a vintage car would one day seem.
My dad gave me a deep love for the English language— for books, for research, for creativity. He was a journalist by trade, and I can still remember the joy of running home to announce, “I was the highest in Composition!”
He wrote many articles as a press attaché for Kenya’s Ministry of Information, and he was a published author. His book, Six Mau Mau Generals, chronicled an important piece of Kenyan history. It’s almost impossible to find now, but I have one worn, well-loved copy. It remains one of my most treasured possessions.
In honor of all of that, and to begin this new year here on Substack, I wanted to share my dad’s high school senior essay. It won best essay for his class. His prize? A hardcover Biology textbook. (A very sixties kind of reward, ha!)
At the time, in colonial Kenya, the British tea company Brooke Bond sponsored educational awards across the country. Schools competed in categories like art, essay writing, handwriting, and books were given as prizes for excellence.
I’ve shared these photos on every blog I’ve had over the past sixteen years. It’s my quiet way of honoring him. It’s how I remember my dad, I read this and picture his excitement, and his youth and his smile. He’s the reason I love words. I love his story. I hope you enjoy it too.
I miss you, Dad.
