My Favorite Man on Earth
So… I broke my knee.
That’s where we’re at.
I’ll get to that. But first I want to introduce you to someone special.
Some people might think that because I’m slightly boy crazy, love flirting and attention, that I must have some deep-rooted daddy issues.
That’s the cliché, right?
But actually, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
I have whatever the opposite of daddy issues is. (In a non Freudian way.) I completely and totally, without a shadow of a doubt, think my dad is the best dad in the world.
I know a lot of people say that. But he is in fact, not only my favorite man on earth, but my favorite person on earth!
For those of you that don’t know about my dad, let me tell you a bit about him.
He is hands down the most generous person I know. With his time, energy, money, you name it. He would… actually he *has helped people he doesn’t even know. Cool in his temperament, doesn’t get shaken up easily. He’s so smart, immigrated from Sri Lanka by himself, paid his way through the University of Maryland, took risks, worked hard, had an amazing career, built a life and family and lifted up so many people along the way.
He’s the first to extend his hand to lift someone else up- his siblings, nieces, nephews, in-laws, friends, strangers. Co-sign a lease, help pay college tuition, write a resume, get someone a job, sponsor a visa (or many), become a self appointed immigration lawyer (lol).
I truly cannot count the number of lives he’s touched.
He’s someone that people respect and admire. But he’s humble and always has his feet on the ground.
He’s a husband sent from the heavens. My mom won the literal jackpot. I know there’s a stereotype of an incompetent and/or lazy husband that doesn’t do shit, but I really can’t relate. I saw something completely different growing up.
My dad was always helping my mom in the garden, being the sous-chef when she cooked. He is always calm and kind to her. Many of my aunts have told me that if they married a man like my dad, instead of who they married (and divorced), they would lay flowers at his feet every day and worship him. He is that saintly. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, but if you ever met him, you would actually feel an angelic aura around him. I don’t know how else to describe it.
And even with all his other responsibilities- being a good boss, a good uncle, a good husband, a good friend (and my God, he’s a good friend), I think, (and I’m biased here), but I think his favorite role was being a good dad.
My dad was involved in everything. He would hold our feet up while my siblings and I tried to do handstands in the backyard. He coached my basketball team and was at every soccer game. He altered my show choir dresses because he learned how to sew when he was a boy scout in Sri Lanka. He helped me study for my math tests and SAT’s, and yes I cried at the kitchen table every time.
(he’s really good at math and I’m not!)
He read a book on Sacagawea and helped me with my 4th grade book report. He laid on the couch while I wrote my Master’s thesis at 2 am because he didn’t want me to be alone. I actually assume that’s why. I don’t really know. I kind of like the solitude and stillness in the late night/ early morning, so I wouldn’t have minded being alone. I told him this many times but he would insist to stay with me. He would nap while I wrote. If he couldn’t help me write my thesis like he helped me write my book report, he was at least going to be there for moral support.
He packed my lunch every day in high school. I was obsessed with peanut butter sandwiches. Okay, he also packed my lunches after I graduated college and was working. Some rice, salmon, salad, a snack.
“Oh my GOD, Nayomi, you’re an adult, pack your own lunch”
You might be thinking that. And… ~fair…
I don’t know… wouldn’t you love if someone did that for you?
Maybe it’s just me.
And I’ll admit, I’ve been sheltered and maybe you could even say a little spoiled.
It’s been mostly positive, but there are certain things I don’t know how to do. Like change my oil. Or pay my taxes. One day I’ll learn...
(What do you want me to say?? I didn’t choose the soft life, the soft life chose me!!!!)
And besides all the responsibility, duty, honor, he’s actually just a COOL person.
My dad played multiple sports, standing at 6’1 towers over most Sri Lankans (lol), is a good singer and dancer, is reeeealllly funny, loves travelling. Idk how my parents did it, having three young kids and just starting their careers so they didn’t have all the money and comforts they have now, and they went everywhereee. We went all around England, Germany, Austria, Italy and Switzerland. Mind you, back when I was a baby, there was no wifi, smart phones- nothing. They just had maps, Europass train tickets, curiosity and faith.
Me becoming a travel baddie at a young age.
Their curiosity and thirst for seeing the world continued as we grew. My parents took us to see the canyons in Sedona, the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel, I saw glaciers and went dog sledding in Alaska, we visited the Western Wall, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem.
I realize I just listed off a bunch of extremely religious places, but my family isn’t really religious; it was something to see, learn, and experience. My parents taught me to be open, pay respect to every religion, every people. We floated in the Dead Sea and covered ourselves with mud that’s full of minerals and good for your skin.
I did so much with them. I experienced so much with them. I saw so much because of them.
My parents at Horseshoe Bend, Arizona
Even when I think about my own travels I’ve done as an adult without my parents, it’s because they passed down this love of travelling to me. They put me in places (like Switzerland for college), where I made friends around the world and it opened even more doors.
They quite literally gave me the world.
Well, I’ve gone on a rather long tangent but now I feel like you have a basic understanding of my dad. It would be impossible to truly summarize him in one blog, but I hope I captured his essence.
He’s the GOAT Dad.
So what does this have to do with dating or me injuring my knee?
Well to start, those are some pretty big shoes to fill. The bar is high.
And even though I grew up with literally the best example possible of a good husband and father, I’ve still gotten it wrong. I’ve picked wrong, stayed with people that exhibited the opposite qualities of my dad. Qualities I knew were important to me. But well, let’s call it a learning lesson or a detour. My dad remained my north star. I knew once I found someone similar to him, even half as loving, caring, kind, smart, generous, thoughtful- Loved me even half as much. Well then maybe I’d know I was getting closer to my person.
Back to my knee- GOD DAMN it hurt!
Whether it was God, the Universe, Karma- whatever you wanna call it, the fact that my parents were already in Europe when I hurt my knee was divine intervention. I can’t imagine getting surgery and recovering without them. I was in unbearable, excruciating pain. I couldn’t stand, walk, obviously couldn’t cook for myself. It must have felt like having a newborn all over again. I could tell my dad was sleeping so lightly, so any movement I made, any shuffle of discomfort, any time I would have to go to the bathroom, he would immediately wake up and come to me. He would help me get up and slowly walk me to the bathroom and stand right outside the door to make sure I didn’t fall.
My parents would push me in a wheelchair since I don’t have a car to get to physical therapy. Rain or shine. One would hold the umbrella and the other one would push me. The last time they pushed me around Lugano, I was in a stroller and five months old lol. Anyway, my wheelchair era was kinda depressing but also kinda fun. My friend Janil would push me on the bus and pull the breaks and then push me off and we’d go shopping ahahah.
My physical therapist said I’d have to massage my knee 3-4 x a day. My knee was still swollen and inflamed from the surgery and also we had to slowly work on my range of movement and gaining elasticity where I had scars. I can’t imagine being in the pain I was in, having to do it to myself. But 4 times a day, my dad would say “Okay, time for your massage. We have to keep doing it, consistently.”
He would massage my knee and my leg, and I would just think to myself,
“How lucky am I? 28 years old and I have my dad here taking care of me. Massaging my leg even as an adult. Just like he did when I was 12 years old and tore my ACL playing soccer. And just like he did when I had growing pains when I was little.”
I remembered not being able to sleep as a kid and feeling like the bones in my legs were literally stretching out. I’d walk into my parents room and wake my dad up, tears in my eyes. “My legs hurt, I can’t sleep.”
Of course since I was little my parents could only give me a children’s dose of pain reliever which didn’t help much. I remember my dad would lay horizontally on the bottom of my bed, massaging my little legs, and it gave me so much relief. Not only because it made my legs hurt less, but I also felt better knowing he was there. I didn’t have to be scared of the pain, because my dad was there.
Maybe this happened every so often from ages 7-9, when I had big growth spurts. And 20 years later… he was still there, massaging my legs and taking care of me. How did I get so lucky.
I don’t take for granted how much my mom did to support me in this time too. There are some different post surgery protocols in Switzerland than in America. In America they have you shower as soon as you can, and in Switzerland, I was all bandaged up and not allowed to get water anywhere near my incisions, since it would risk infection. For one month I couldn’t take a proper shower, so my mom would bathe me. First the top half of my body, then the bottom. I would sit in the shower on a mesh outdoor chair and she would wash my hair and scrub me with a wash cloth. I thought the last time she did this with me I was probably a baby in a bucket. A warmth came over me. I felt very loved and very lucky.
Anyway, the nerves in my leg were firing off so even little droplets of water basically felt like an explosive went off. My mom tried her best to do it as quickly and as painlessly as possible… but I was screaming, and she had a job to do. “You’re almost done.”
In many ways, my mom made me strong and my dad made me soft.
(Btw, I had three procedures done at once, ACL (full tear), meniscus (full bucket handle tear), and Lemaire. I know some people that had easier and quicker recoveries and I love that for them! But it wasn’t my case.)
I also realized later in life how much my dad influenced the way I take care of others. Sometimes I’m surprised to see “tough love.” It feels like ice water got dumped over my head, even if I’m not the sick one. I remember talking to one of my aunts that said in her house, no one was gonna baby anyone, and if her or her husband or son were sick, they’d just have to get up, walk down the stairs, make themselves a tea, take some medicine and suck it up! This was completely normal for them.
My jaw was on the floooooor. I was in disbelief.
My grandparents on my mom’s side were “tough love” parents, and she didn’t want or need that much sympathy. She really could just put on a brave face and tough it out.
Me: *Eyes wide and mouth open 👁👄👁
Me: Oh no….. No… I don’t know about that life. When I’m sick my dad brings me ginger honey lime tea to my room every few hours.
And I get it, not everyone wants or needs that. Some people actually just want to be left alone. Totally fair.
But not meeee.
And when people around me have been sick, it just comes naturally to be super tender, soft, nurturing, and caring. I mirror my dad.
So not only do I want to find a partner that mirrors my dad, I also want to be a partner LIKE my dad. Actually, no, I wanna be a person like my dad. I strive to be as well travelled, smart, funny, dependable, thoughtful, generous, interesting… the list goes on and on.
So besides writing down something I’ve wanted to write forever, crystalizing these memories for myself and for some future kids I might have one day, I also think I wanted to write this talk about the huge influence that my dad plays in my search for a partner.
I know not everyone gets a dad like this. We don’t get to choose the parents we’re born to- but we do get to choose the parents our kids will have. And even more than that, we get to choose the kind of people we want to be.
My dad is the person everyone else will be measured against. He’s the blueprint for who I want to be, how I want to show up for people, and how I want people to show up for me.
At times I felt it was impossible. How could someone not fall short in comparison?
But… I found someone that holds their own. Is amazing in their own right. He mirrors my dad, so he mirrors me. You all have yet to meet him (I won’t give anything away yet.)
But on one of my many ramblings… I told my boyfriend, “I know no one will ever, ever pack my lunch for me again in my life. No one on Earth besides my dad. I’ll probably have to pack my kids lunch lol. I had it good.”
He turned his eyebrows upward and looked at me with a pouty face. He leaned in and put his hands on my cheeks.
“Noo… I will”
Me: “What!?? no! It’s okay you don’t have to. I can do it myself, it’s fine!”
“I will, I want to”
I looked at him in disbelief.
…
Me: “You would really pack my lunch for me?…”
“Yes, I will. Promise.”
I was speechless.
It was as if my dad metaphorically picked me up and put me in good hands.
Once a year, our family gathers for a Buddhist ceremony to honor the passing of my grandparents. In one ritual, we sit around a teapot, hands resting on each other’s shoulders or the pot itself, all connected. As the chanting begins, we tilt the pot and let the water pour into a cup until it overflows, a steady stream continuing until the last word is spoken or the water runs out.
The image of the water overflowing out of the cup has always stuck with me.
This pouring symbolizes the transfer of our merit (our good karma) to those who’ve passed on. The overflowing water becomes a vessel for our good deeds, a way to support our loved ones on their journey through the afterlife.
I can’t help but to think of all the other ways this concept of “overflowing” shows up in our lives. Maybe not just when we’ve passed away but while we’re still here. I really feel deep down that my dad has been so kind, so good, that his abundance of good karma has somehow spilled over to me. I dunno… Maybe it’s just my own karma coming back to me… Afterall, I had to do something right in my past life to get him as my dad in this life.
I like to think of myself as a good person, who does good things. Not perfect for sure. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve disappointed myself and surely disappointed others. But I know I have a big heart. I’m overly empathetic. Sometimes I feel like I have so much love to give, it’s just flowing out of me, like the flood gates opened, got jammed, and never closed. To friends, family, everyone. I feel I have so much love to share.
And I think, this abundance of love, the heaps of kindness and tenderness that has overflowed from my dads cup, has fallen into mine… and overflows out of mine and pours onto others.
Maybe that’s what happens when we love each other. Maybe that’s where “pay it forward” comes from. Someone pours love and goodness into us, and we are so full that, naturally, it spills over.
Dad and kids, in a hotel room… somewhere
Dating 101 Key Take Aways:
1) Love shows up in the small, consistent things.
Whether it’s packing lunch, rubbing sore legs, or just showing up for support, deep love is often quiet, steady, and unflashy.
2) We don’t choose our parents- but we do choose our kids parents.
We can be inspired by our positive influences, break cycles, lead with love, and model better for the next generation.
