As the kids head back to school this time of year, it takes me back to my youth, growing up in the suburban town of Levittown in the ’60s and ’70s. My memories of those times are filled with fun, happiness and a wonderful family. My parents, brother and I shared beautiful days, great family vacations and lots of love. I could not have scripted a better childhood. With my children and even grandchildren, I have tried to emulate that love and devotion shown by my parents. In 2003, my father, the patriarch of my family, passed away. Shortly before he died, he gave my mom, my brother and me a copy of what he called “My Memoirs.” My dad was a math professor and an eternal scholar. He loved pursuits of knowledge and wisdom. But this… this 80-page manuscript was his pride and joy. Dad had mentioned off and on through his last years that he was working on his memoirs, but I never envisioned the final product. To understand it, you have to know that my dad was born in Paraguay, moved with his family to Sicily at age 5, where the family bought a vineyard and lived until he graduated from college and grad school. Then he moved back to Paraguay, met my mom and, when I was still young, moved the family to the United States to give us all a “better life.” I never understood the depth of each of those moves, until I received the gift of my father’s heart, his memoirs. It is written in his beloved Italian, all except the prologue, which is in English and Spanish. Though my mom did translate his words to English for me, my kids and their kids, his heartfelt words were in Italian. So to get the true gist of his feelings, I learned Italian over a few years. Though long gone, my dad is still inspiring me to get wisdom and never stop learning! What a gift! Through my father’s own words after his death, I have learned so much of who he truly was, where the greatness came from and just what a truly incredible man he was. His hopes, his dreams, his aspirations for my brother and me and the pride he had for all of us. Each time I read it, I get more out of it. And I cry. But I think they are happy tears, which tell me just how blessed I am to be his daughter. He has inspired to me to start writing my story. I think mine pales in comparison to my dad’s, but hopefully, it will mean something to someone down the road. Thank you, Dad, for the inspiration! What a gift!