by Mario Dimain

Created on: May 26, 2009

The month of June never fails to bring one good reason to celebrate. Its third Sunday marks the day of great importance to my three daughters. Together, they observe its yearly significance in the same manner that I remember their grandfather on Father's Day.

June is also the month that touches a nerve that is deeply rooted in me. It painfully reminds me of the death anniversary of someone very dear to me. He was a soldier who fought and lived the horror of the Korean War in the fifties. More than four decades later this one heck of a war veteran fought his final battle, against a much stronger and a formidable foe. On June 9, 1995, lung cancer defeated him. I lost my father, my great mentor, my hero and my best friend.

During the grieving years that followed, I eased the pain by immersing myself deeper into photography, the art I learned from him. It is our common ground and our strongest bond. It is the only dimension where our spirits connect. Holding a camera is like touching his hand. I feel his presence in every photo that I shoot. His passing away also inspired me to write a short fictional story about a son's heart-warming relationship with his father. It is a story that mirrors my grief-stricken self, still longing for him every Father's Day.

The story begins:

John is up in the attic of his father's house, cleaning up. The morning sunlight beaming through the window makes the floating dust even more visible. Boxes of garbage to be thrown out are finally separated from the items that he thinks are worth keeping. The house where John grew up is now listed for sale. His father passed away just a month ago.

An old shoebox with string tied around it catches John's eyes. He wonders what is so important inside the box. It seems like a well guarded treasure. He opens it. An old sepia photo greets him. Faded and torn around the edges but otherwise still recognizable. It's a picture of a smiling little boy, mounted on his father's shoulder. They both look happy. John remembers the day when the photo was taken. It was on a bright summer day. His father took him out to see the Air Show. He remembers everything about it. The thundering roar of the fighter planes flying overhead, the ice cream cone melting in his hand and dripping on his Dad's shoulder are still crystal-clear in his memory. Underneath were more photos of family events and important documents. John wants to see more photos of his father. He continues to dig in. Reaching the bottom,

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