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I still remember his face. I would get home from school, and he would look at me with those quizzical eyes, as if questioning me: "Did you do something wrong today?" If I had done something wrong, I knew that he knew.

That was my father. My father passed away when I was 17 years old. I will never forget the day he died. It's been 34 years since his death, but I still remember the day with every detail.

My father was a quiet man. He never said much. He worked hard all his life. He was waiting to go on pension so that he can enjoy life a little more. He worked from 8:00am to 8:00pm. He wouldn't come home for lunch; he would eat at work and keep on working. He was always dressed impeccably. Even though he was a mechanic, no one could tell, because his hands were always clean. He would scrub them with a brush to get the grease out of his hands and fingernails. He always wore a sport jacket and a tie. He was never without a tie. Neighbors would see him and ask my mother if he was in secret service. He was always mysterious looking. His salt and pepper hair were slicked back and with his semi transparent glasses he looked even more enigmatic.

My father always knew if I did anything wrong. I loved him too much but I was also afraid of him. Not afraid in a way that he will hit me or punish me, he never touched me, but in a way that I will hurt his feelings and he will never be able to forgive me. He was a proud man. He wanted to be proud of his daughter. He didn't want to hear anything bad about her. So, when the high school principal called him and asked him to stop by the school, I was devastated. I was caught skipping school and now the school wanted to confront him. Not my mother, but my father. I remember writing him a long letter with all the details of what I've done. I didn't want him to go to the school not knowing what happened. I apologized over and over on my letter to him, hoping that it will ease things a little.

When my father finished reading my letter, very calmly he took me into my room and he told me that I was grounded. I was to go everywhere with them; that I was never to be alone. I didn't want to do it, but what choice did I have?

The next day he met with the school principal. To this day, I don't know what transpired between my father and the principal. I was never told. My father discussed it with my mother, but not with me. I have a feeling that he tried to defend me.

That same year my father passed away. It was April 3, 1973. He was sick

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