Despite the late nights and long hours that took my father away more than this daddy’s girl would have liked, he never stopped being my hero. I knew that when he finished his day job, changed clothes and headed to his extra shifts tending bar or waiting tables for local caterers, he was doing it for a reason. Lots of them, actually —my mom, two sisters, two brothers and me.
For someone as proud as he was, it was a sacrifice because of what he had to put up with from people with a lot more money and a lot less character. They treated him like he was “invisible,” or worse, and he put up with it, for us.
What he did not have to do is endure the recklessness of a boss who willfully and deliberately exposed him to a deadly virus in the name of politics.
But others very much like him do.
