A LITTLE KID, CHASING DREAMS
When I observe the children of my friends and family, it's evident that we inherit everything within us from our parents and build a new world upon those experiences. There's no doubt about that, but for me, rediscovering everything is quite an enjoyable experience. What your parents are is where you start, and from there, you shape your own character. I'm writing this on Father's Day in 2017, and without a doubt, I dedicate my writing to my father. He was a wonderful person, always crazy and bursting with a powerful energy rooted in good intentions, and he never learned to contain it. May he rest in peace.
In those lovely days of fourth grade, my father had already begun supporting the spirits of my brother and me with his great enthusiasm. As I mentioned, he had no control over his excitement, and one of the best examples of this was when he bought us Barbar Conan comic books. To be honest, both my brother and I were too young for these comic books, but Barbar Conan was quite magnificent. I was ten years old, and my imagination had already transcended far beyond the window of my dark little room. I would read each issue fifty times over, constantly looking at the drawings and recreating them. One day, my mother got her hands on these magazines. She opened one of them, and on the first page, there was an illustration of giant rats attacking a young woman chained to a marble column in a rectangular shape. The young woman was screaming, and undoubtedly, Conan would come to her rescue, but my mother was only interested in that horrifying panel she saw. My father would be in trouble when he came home that evening.
Let's go back a bit further. When I was in the second grade, at the age of eight, I started writing stories in a black notebook. When I read them today, they are such absurd stories that I can't help but laugh. They contain all kinds of weirdness - invading aliens, tigers emerging from blue-colored watches, and so much more. I showed what I had written to my father, and he read through the pages without showing any signs of disinterest. Then he said, "This effort shouldn't go to waste. We should send it to a publishing house and get it printed." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The next day, he took the notebook to work. I anxiously waited all day. My book was going to be published. This was a fantastic event. When evening came, my father returned with a file in his hand. All my writings had been meticulously typed onto paper. On the first page, my name, Cem Akyurek, was inscribed as the author. He handed me the file and said, "The officials at the publishing house loved what you wrote and decided to publish your book. They even sent you the first copy." I was so excited that the idea of those typed pages on paper not being an actual book didn't even cross my mind. My first book had been published. Nothing else mattered. This was a happiness beyond words.
Years passed, and I eventually learned that what I had written was transferred onto paper by the secretary in the office using a typewriter. Nevertheless, I didn't feel deceived. On the contrary, I felt proud of my father for the value he gave me, which had made me the person I am today. It's crucial to care for our children and prepare them to become future individuals, giving them a dream, they'll want to pursue.
As Soner Canözer sings in one of his songs, "Even if we lose all the battles, we live as much as the tales we believe in." Happy Father's Day. How fortunate are those who can truly be fathers and carry the power to raise individuals within them.
