The Momma Clan

Dear Pa,

The land gleams under the sun’s gentle radiance, and after months, I finally see joy return to your face. There you sit, hunched over your fishing rod, battling the elusive trout in icy waters. Your brows furrow with impatience as they dart past, mocking your attempts, brushing against your feet with a silent, knowing tease.

How we once marvelled at your mastery—the effortless skill that made every summer an adventure. But time has softened your hands, dimmed your eyesight, and turned the last strands of black on your head into silver. And yet, you grin, that familiar, toothless smile, clutching the walking stick you once despised—your steady companion, the one you never wanted but now cannot part with.

You stood beside us on every fishing trip, a constant presence as Joe grumbled, hesitating at the glacier’s edge. Yet, with unwavering hands, you guided us toward the sea. Mama never worried—she knew we were safe with you. A father like you is rare, perhaps even impossible to find. No one could ever truly be like you, Pa.

I remember the winters when you cradled us between your feet, shielding us from the ruthless winds. The cold stole our breath, freezing the air around us, but you, barefoot by the sea, gave us the warmth. Frostbitten and aching, your feet bore wounds that never healed, yet you never wavered. You protected us when so many others succumbed to the merciless ice. While many birds migrated to warmer regions during winter, we had to endure the harsh conditions and wait for the season to change, hoping that the sun would rise again someday. Penguins cannot fly. 

I will never forget the day Joe slipped into the unforgiving water. Your gasp. Your cry. Your frantic plunge into the depths. You called his name, wading through the frozen sea, searching, desperate. And then—finally—you found him, lifeless, cradled in your trembling arms.

You carried him back, nursing him through nights that stretched endlessly. Every breath was a battle, every hour an aching vigil. Yet, you never faltered. And then—one morning—his eyes flickered open, his face glowing like sunrise.

Through your tear-stained face, you smiled.

This Father’s Day, every memory is a tribute to your unwavering devotion. No words, no gesture can ever repay the debt I owe you. But I carry it with gratitude, knowing your sacrifices shape every step.

You are God’s greatest gift, a pillar of strength that time cannot erode. Like the devoted penguin father, your love endures through every storm. May the generations witness the depth of a father’s love, boundless as the ocean, eternal as the stars.

This letter is a humble gift, a token of gratitude for the life you built for us. Hasn’t your chick grown up enough? Ah, but you would never see me that way. I remain your little one, forever nestled in your embrace, swinging with the breeze, softly singing the song you taught us:

“The bright light never fades,
The wind whistles a soft tune,
Singing a jolly song,
Far the boats dance underneath the sky,
Dancing on the waves of harmony.”

Your love, Pa, is the melody of my soul.

Forever your child,
Elly