I am the daughter of a dreamer.
My father dreamed big, saw himself not only achieving his dreams but going beyond what even he could imagine. He lived his life in a grandiose way.
When I was a young girl, he drove a big white Cadillac. Those of us old enough to remember The Beatles will remember the Caddys with fins gracefully sweeping up the sides and chrome bumpers as big as a kitchen table.
These were not economical vehicles – the car stretched at least a half block when parked and probably got 10 miles to the gallon.
Didn’t matter to my dad.
“Driving that car means I made it,” he said.
Successful, big-shot salesmen only drove a Cadillac. The grander the fenders and bumpers, the better.
When his business failed, which most of them did, he never looked back. He simply picked himself up and moved on to the next venture, telling us this new one would be the big break, the big deal.
There was no step-by-step progress for him. It was always the giant deal that was going to make him rich and successful. Others might question his methods, but my dad never doubted himself.
He was livelier than the other fathers, funnier and a much better dancer than anyone else we knew.
He could charm everyone from grandmothers to little children, and his charming Cajun phrases flowed like honey, even more so when he’d had a few beers.
When I got older, I gradually realized not all of his dreams were going to come true. In fact, most of them would never be more than the words coming out of his mouth. Most of them left us further in the financial hole.
I resented him for those dreams.
And because I resented those dreams, I had few of my own. Over the years, I took the safe, cautious path.
But a person who lives life to the fullest is impossible to resist. My dad was that way and charmed all his grandchildren. Pops was fun, gregarious and they knew he loved them without reserve.
He taught them to laugh and to appreciate the little gifts in life, like the small river that ran through some property he owned. Along the sandy banks of that river, they were pirates and explorers, conquering the mighty waters.
It was easy to catch his enthusiasm and he never lost that zest for life, even when his own was confined to an oxygen tank and a motorized chair.
All his life, he never stopped believing that one day, he’d make it big.
I thought about his dreams when considering what I want to do with the rest of my life. I find myself facing the second half of my time on earth, retirement coming sooner than I thought it would arrive.
Avenues that stretched out endlessly before me are narrower and with a definite end.
When I reached this stage of my life, I thought dreams would be silly and pointless. After all, my dreams growing up were simple goals, not unrealistic scenarios where I’d be a seasoned traveler, a writer who moved people to laughter or a person in the community my sons would brag about.
But I’ve traveled to a few places, I think I’ve put a smile on a few faces through this column, and I’ve never been drunk in my life.
My dad’s bravery and willingness to gamble on himself sustained him through the darkest times, gave him a reason to get out of bed in the mornings and put a smile on his face when I have a feeling he wanted to cry.
So maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to start dreaming.
My dad would say… it’s about time.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.