It's funny how a moment can stop you in your tracks. How you can turn perfectly still and just know that something really extraordinary is happening. This is a picture of my dad. We both went to Tinian for work last Wednesday. He was going to be deliberating on a bill with the Senate and I was going to be pleading for that same bill's passage. I am an educator and my father is a lawmaker. He has seen me do what I love many times as I grew professionally; always encouraging, always cheering, always beaming. Until last Wednesday, I had never really seen him at work.
Sitting in the Tinian courthouse I was struck with emotion as I watched my father. He was speaking, but I was slowly drifting off in my thoughts, forgetting for a moment what I was supposed to be doing there. He talked. He said he was the only legislator without a formal education, not even an Associate's degree. He said that a nation could only be great if it invested in it's children's education. I had heard him say these things many times, but that day was markedly different. I knew it would be etched in the corners of my memory, only to be coaxed out one day by a word, or the sound of paper rattling, or a microphone being tapped. It's a spectacular thing, the birth of a memory.
One day I will tell my children the story about the day grandpa and I went to work together.