Day 34

Once again, I am skipping ahead in the continuity of the blog (and yes, I realize I am very, very far behind now, but realize that it's difficult to write posts that have a few thousand words each while working 12 hours a day with no off days) to post something about my dad.

Depending on who is reading this, you may or may not know that my father, 52, died two years ago today after losing a battle with cancer.

My dad was responsible for a lot of cool things that I had the opportunity to do while I was growing up. Because of his interest in travel, I’ve been to the Grand Canyon, seen the Liberty Bell, rode Spaceship Earth at Epcot, been inside the Alamo, time-traveled back to colonial times in Williamsburg, learned about Henry Ford in Detroit, gone to the Bahamas (though I was too young to remember), viewed Toronto from the tallest tower in the Western Hemisphere, learned and explored at The Children’s Museum of Indianapolis, stumbled upon a pickle vendor in New York City, biked across the Golden Gate Bridge, saw the tilt of the Leaning Tower of Pisa firsthand, see U.S. currency being printed, rode a train up the hills of Pittsburgh, and said “hello” to a pirate made entirely of LEGOs. And he paid for school trips and Scout trips that he couldn’t go on himself, and because of his support, I’ve seen a lot of cool things that very few twenty-year-olds have gotten to see, such as Mount Rushmore.

My father loved to travel, and has been traveling his entire life, whether it be behind the Iron Curtain to Communist Poland, or a cross-country train trip, where he met my mom on the way to San Francisco. He also had a knack for finding activities the average tourist wouldn’t normally see.

I guess his adventurous spirit rubbed off on me, as I have organized trips of my own as I became an adult: a 4,500-mile, 12-state, 12-day baseball-themed road trip with two of my high school friends, a trip to Hawaii over Spring Break last year with some people from my dorm at USC, and now fifty days alone in South Africa volunteering for the FIFA World Cup.

I’ve been to 33 of the 50 states, and I can’t even drink legally in the United States yet. I go to a university that’s on the opposite side of the country. I’m about 8,000 miles away from home as I write this blog, volunteering at an event that happens once every four years.

I think I’m beginning to ramble, so I’m going to end this post.

Thanks, David Manka.