Sunday evening ...

It's Sunday night and I'm at my laptop - reading and writing work-related emails late in the evening, preparing for the coming week. It makes me think of my dad. Every Sunday night during the school year, my dad, who was a school principal, would brew a pot of coffee and sit at the dining room table (the same table, btw, that I'm now so proud to have in my own home). He'd pull out a stack of papers that he had to go through, concentrating grumpily, and prepare for his week ahead. I remember this vividly. It's one of my strongest memories of my dad during my childhood years. And now, my own Sunday night routine reminds me so much of his (though he didn't work at a laptop). It also reminds me of how dearly I miss him. Every day, not just Sundays.