My Father, the Pharmacist

Since 1988, it seems that November 13, my father’s birthday, has been quite neglected as a day of celebration. I suppose that’s due to my arrival, but a day later, on November 14.

Today, he turns the very ripe age of 55.

Sometimes, we go months without talking — not out of rage, or anything, but because we’re both workaholics, and finding the time to chat about nothing just to say we’ve communicated recently can be difficult. I talk to my mom multiple times daily, but our relationship is different, and our conversations are much shorter.

My dad is a pharmacist, and so I tend to call him more frequently with questions about ibuprofen dosage or allergy medicine more than anything else. Especially when my brother the med student isn’t available to answer my calls. The other day though, my dad and I had a conversation about business and it was a moment in which I felt truly validated as an adult, despite being the baby in the family.

Our conversations these days may revolve more around me trying to explain that social media management doesn’t mean sitting on Facebook/Twitter all day, but if it means we can talk for 10 minutes or more without peripheral interference, then our father-daughter relationship grows that much stronger.

So dad, happy birthday. I love you (and your fascination with The Purple Gang, antiques and pawn shop-related television), and wish you a birthday filled of health and happiness.

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