My Father

Society never fails to celebrate so-called heroes. These people charm Lady Fame, many times serendipitously. In contrast, society rarely mentions people who live valuable but humble lives and sacrifice their time to their own corner of the universe.  These great people, whether they are teachers of public schools, volunteer doctors and nurses, or just individuals trying to live with dignity, and raise their families with a sense of freedom and responsibility, are worth celebrating just as much.

My father was one of these people who fought their fight bravely and admirably. He was a hard working and honest man who died in 1991, at the age of 42, in the Romanian city of Tulcea where we lived. He was survived by my mother and three teenage daughters. This was a man who came from a modest background. His father was a sailor on the Danube river and his mother, a very wise woman, was a housewife. My father became the first college educated member of his family and he passed on that torch. He was a firm believer in education, knowledge and culture. He told me when I was very young that all the questions that I might ever have are answered in books, thus I must read!

This man struggled to abolish hypocrisy and complacency in his environment in spite of the overwhelming pressure of the Communist regime in those times. He had to live with the pain of leaving his children’s upbringing and education to others at times, albeit family members. He endured the humiliation of being exiled by the communist regime to a workplace far from civilization where he spent his entire week, away from his wife and children. All these sacrifices did not deter him from always speaking his truth and always speaking up. He spoke up at work as he spoke up in social gatherings with his friends, some of whom could have been spies of the system. He spoke up in front of his father too and stated his contrasting religious beliefs which earned him a bitter disagreement.

But speaking is not everything my father did. He applied his beliefs; he was involved. He participated in committees and tried to create better policies. He was involved in our school projects at organizational level at the request of our professors. As a husband, he was passionate, loving and a great provider and defender of his family. He was a self taught painter, photographer, poet and even flirted with music. He loved to read: philosophy, science and science fiction were some of his favorites. His practical side was just as amazing. He was an excellent carpenter, interior designer, cook and tailor. He designed and built all of our living-room and bedroom furniture. He tailored entire clothing lines for us.

Society needs to celebrate people like my father as well, in order to create a true shift in consciousness and provide a better life for the generations to come. These are the individuals who are building the change organically and perseveringly every day. These heroes, too, die on their battlefields.

Otilia Bujor