It goes a little something like this: There once was a king who had many daughters. One day, he asked them all to tell him how much they each loved him. One of them said she loved him as much as the universe, the other said "this much!", spreading her arms wide into a T. When it was the youngest girl's turn to respond, she said she loved him as much as salt. "Salt?!" the king roared, since something as tiny as salt could surely not be enough to describe the love one of his very own daughters could feel towards him. He demanded that she leave the castle and never return, as he no longer considered her to be his daughter.
Years later, the King fell ill and the townspeople were tasked with finding a cure for his illness. A huge reward was offered to whomever would be able to rid His Highness of his disease. The princess, who had been banned from the castle by her father many years ago made some soup and brought it for his father to try. The King, not realizing who the young girl in front of him was, took a spoonful of the soup and started yelling. "Who made this soup?! It has absolutely no flavor! Add some salt to this immediately-- don't you know that nothing tastes good without salt?!" he declared. Hearing this, the princess revealed her identity and reminded him of the answer she had given him when asked how much she loved him. "Now do you understand how important salt is?"
This story is neither the first, nor the only (nor the best for that matter) one that my dad used to tell me growing up. Somehow, though, it stuck with me over the years as it became a way for us to communicate what we mean to each other. It's an indicator of so much more than just how much I love him. Every time I tell him I love him as much as salt, I go back to a weirdly pleasant and vivid memory of myself sitting on the toilet in our first apartment one evening when I was five or six, with the bathroom door wide open and my dad sitting with his back to the wall opposite me as I made him tell the story over and over to me.
It's a reminder of how lucky I am to have my dad as my dad. A reminder of a lot of memories that are only available to the two of us; diving competitions during the summer; dressing him up in my mom's white silk nightgown, putting lipstick on him and taking photos; all the times we drove at night just to get McDonald's soft serve; having him teach me to eat slowly and appreciate every bite of a meal; our singing and dancing competitions; attempts to compose songs for him to sing to my mom with his terribly off-key voice; the time when we were on our feet, hugging, as I cried on his chest at the airport when I was leaving for college freshman year, all the while knowing he was trying to hold it in until I went through security; all the times he came to me for work-related or oh uh your mom is mad-related advice; all the times I went to him for I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life and I'm confused and scared-related advice.
I'm not the most traditional person a man can have as a daughter, so it takes a special guy to build and maintain the kind of relationship that my dad has formed with me over the years as we grew up together. He knows how to handle me at my worst and applaud me more than anyone at my best. He's the one who made me realize that I had a tendency to create virtual problems based on "what-ifs" and the one who taught me to stop doing it since there are more serious, real problems in the world that people have to deal with every day. He's the kind of man that, even during some of the most difficult times he ever went through, didn't make me realize a thing. He taught me what it means to be truly resilient.
Whenever my mom has one of her migraine attacks, he's the one who stays awake throughout the night, pulling her hair, massaging, and icing her head in the dark. Whenever my mom's mad at him with good reason, he takes all the blame, without a "but" or a counter-attack. He knows how and when to take the blame and apologize for his mistakes. And he means it. He's set the bar really high in terms of what I expect from a relationship; not because of how perfect he is, but because of how he handles his imperfections.
He wasn't always around when I was growing up because he's been a hard worker ever since I've known him. However, he's also one of the most immature, kid-like people in my life. He's my favorite dance partner, my least favorite but favorite singing partner, and most ridiculous 21 Questions playing partner. It's hugely thanks to him that I'm still as kid-like, quirky, and carefree as I am. It's also thanks to him that I'm able to work restlessly if and when I dedicate myself to the task.
I don't think he's quite aware of it, but he's a huge part of who I am, and I'm so thankful for it.
And then there's my mom.
I don't have any recollection of having dancing or singing parties with my mom. She's the one who would read the newspaper in the car as my dad and I played 21 Questions and wouldn't participate because she got bored too quickly.
My mom is the one who, instead of making up a story, would read one to me every night before I went to sleep. She's the one who made me practice my piano, drove me to dance lessons, tennis lessons, picked me up from sleepovers, and made me memorize the multiplication table when I was in second grade. She's the one whose opinion I asked when picking out my outfit for a school dance, and also the one who I practiced my MUN speeches on.
She's the one who reminds my dad of his own mother's birthday. She's the one who buys presents for our neighbor's daughter's baby shower; the one who picks out my dad's outfit for dinner when he doesn't know what size pants he wears. She's the one who, despite a terrible migraine attack, jet-lags, and sleep-deprivation, cleaned every corner of my freshman year dorm room (as well as the walls) using a small blue sponge.
She's the one I call when I ace a test I thought I failed, and the one I call the moment the test is over and I'm convinced I failed it. She can tell you the names of all of my friends I'm still in touch with, knows whom or what I'm referring to when I bring up the name of an old professor or a class I took or an event I attended. She doesn't just listen to me when I talk to her; she hears.
She volunteers endless hours traveling to desolate parts of the city and even country to convince people who have never voted in their lives to vote, or people who have always voted for the same party due to lack of knowledge to vote for another one that they actually have faith in. She's the one I call when I want to find out what's going on at home or why the Greek economy is in such poor condition or what she thinks about the last column written by a certain journalist.
My mom fulfils many roles in my life. She's my mom, my older sister, my best friend. She's my mentor and my life coach. Even though I don't always follow the advice she gives me, she's the one person whose advice I can't live without. She's the one who helped me decide what school to attend and she's the one who helped me pick out the sandals I'm wearing as I type these words. Even though she's thousands of miles away, she's somehow always the closest.
If my dad was the good cop growing up, she was the bad. But bad only in the most beautiful sense of the word.
When she was pregnant with me, she had fish almost every night because she wanted me to come out all nice and smart, and didn't have any dessert for the entire nine months. She was the one who made me drink orange flavored fish liver oil for years; the one who bought me puzzles instead of video games when I was growing up. She was also the one who put everything aside and played with me for hours instead of letting me sit in front of the TV.
She's always been the one to take on the unsexy responsibilities that came with being a mom and I am the person I am today because she didn't do "mom" the easy way.
If I were to put her on a scale, the scale would tip more towards "friend" than "mother". She got married when she was my age and tells me not to get married anytime soon. I know that she has complete, one hundred percent faith in me, but I guess she has every reason to because she did one hell of a job raising and creating me the way she did. She's given me so much liberty, power, confidence, common sense, awareness, and sensibility that I think she thinks there's nothing for her to worry about.
She's the one who's taught me that I do not need to put up with anyone's bullshit, but also the one who's scolded me the hardest at times when I had a shitty attitude. She's the one who's taught me one of the simplest, most useful rules of thumb in life; to keep things and people that make me happy in my life, and to not worry about things and people that don't, because they are never worth the energy.
I think she has a better sense of how much she means to me than my dad does, but I can never say it enough.
Then there's the two of these kids together. Somehow, they found each other and stuck together through the years. I, not just today, but every single day, am ever so thankful for being born into their lives. Sometimes, during the day when I see that it's 8:08 or 12:12, I wish that one day my kids feel the same way about me as I do about them.
Today is both of their birthdays. They were born on this very day, six years apart from each other. I wish I could physically be with them to celebrate, but am whole-heartedly there in spirit. I don't like making a big deal out of my own birthday, but I love making a huge deal out of theirs.
Cheers to some amazing years of being alive, meeting each other, doing Good things for this world and for others; and thank you for making me, teaching me right and injecting in me the desire and drive to fight for the stuff that I think are worth the fight.
I love you both like crazy.
I love you both as much as salt.
A very big, very tight hug, and a very long, very slimy kiss to each of you!
Your biggest fan,
Me
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