I can still smell the halls of Dad’s work with just a single thought. His office was one o f the only ones in the building to be in a sort of alcove, another office’s door parallel to it, which I always thought was very cool because it was like a cubby. From my earliest to my last memory of his work, I will always remember how special it felt to see his name on a plaque on the door.
Many would say it wasn’t that special. He was an academic that kept to himself, tinkering away in his lab or slouching in his office chair staring at molecules. But there was- and still is- something that felt so special about Dad’s work; something that felt unreachable, beyond the realm of daily life.
I have countless memories o f staring into the RetroVision car park outside my primary school classroom and imagining being in Dad’s office or wondering what Dad was doing that very moment in his office. I can even still feel myself getting emotional over the times that I’d stare into the car park, imagining all things Dad, and having to count down the days until I would see my best friend again and sit in his sun-warmed Toyota Corolla (who we affectionately dubbed ‘Bubbles’).
I was always very anxious when it came to school. So, daydreaming about Dad’s office with its dusty window-mounted air conditioner, my brothers’ and my artworks tacked to the mounted wooden shelves, my scrawl of handwriting and drawings over the whiteboard, the navy linoleum floors of the halls, the scratchy carpet, piles of books, models, ancient vials of chemicals, green leather chairs, messy labs, old computers, black-and-white class photos, broken-down elevators and more than anything, Dad, truly got me through some of the toughest days of my childhood. As a result, sick-days were, of course, always wonderful.
I loved being able to finally be in the place that Dad was always in, and I loved being able to spend a whole day with him that wasn’t just on one of the weekends that he had been appointed.
Dad may have never thought of himself as much of an academic, and never thought of himself as very worthy of his Atticus Finch-style briefcase, but I certainly think he was far more of an academic and far more worthy of that briefcase than anyone else in the entire university. I hope that even though it wasn’t the best of places, he at least enjoyed his homemade sandwiches, black coffee and blowing up things in the lab.
In conclusion, to me, Dad always felt like the most important and smartest person in the world in that office. I long for him to fully understand that I value him and his work and passion for chemistry more than any Nobel Peace Prize committee could value even the most ground-breaking researchers.
And now, I get to wear the key to office 516 A around my neck as a testimony to the little boy playing with his chemistry set in his shed while his Mum wasn’t home.
In hindsight, I realise that Dad’s work felt so magical because of how much I love him.
I hope he knows that no matter what he or anyone else thinks, he did become the World’s Best Chemist, and more importantly, always remained the World’s Best Dad.
Forever, will my nostalgia revolve around the endless happy memories I share with him.
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