A few months ago, in a sincere attempt to take initiative and bond, I promised my father that I would soon join him on his evening walks. This evening, when he returned home from work, he entered my room and asked me to walk. With his laces already tied, I was bound to my word, so I grabbed my shoes.
Heading down the street, the heat was almost unbearable and my father began to chat about his priestly endeavors, discussing the significance of a marriage license. I smiled and nodded, concentrating mostly on the designs of the cracks in the sidewalk. Before I knew it, there was a small dog at my feet; a short-legged Jack Russell Terrier, stout and rambunctious. One of those small dogs that’s born convinced she is bigger than she looks. Though we couldn’t help but laugh, I couldn’t help but admire her.
She passed us, and we walked on. My father said to me, “Up the street you’ll see Anju and Manju, they’re dying to meet you. Every day they ask for you.”

What? I looked at him like he was crazy.

Before he could answer any questions, I was greeted by a girl on a scooter, Anju, or maybe it was Manju, one of the eleven year old Sri Lankan twins adopted just two years ago by a kind suburban family living in Kansas. They moved here recently and since then my father had apparently developed with them a relationship of sorts.
I saw the girl run to her mother and say my name, pointing at me. I walked to the girls and introduced myself.

“Today is my birthday,” one of them said, “I’m eleven”
Happy birthday, I said to one, I forgot to mention it to the other.
As I walked down their driveway, a strange sensation came over me; I can only believe it is the feeling of being loved by strangers. My father saw my face, unchanged, still utterly confused
“See how much love they have?”
I didn’t answer
“That’s the way love is.”
And all my questions vanished.

We turned the corner, and Sir Geoffrey greeted us. He was knighted by my father not long ago, this crazy old man. Every evening he asks my father if he can walk with him for 100 steps (“no more, no less, I promise”), and chat. The trouble is, every time he joins my dad, he becomes so occupied with counting his steps that all conversation is lost. I walked a little behind the two of them, two crazy old men in different ways, and mused at the humanity of it all. There was Sir Geoffrey, my father’s knight, who would occasionally turn to me and call me princess. And there was my dad, laughing with a man most would turn away from.
Geoffrey had headed back a few paces ago, and my father spent the last quarter of a mile droning on about the art of shoe insoles. As I absentmindedly nodded, I looked at the neighborhood I had spent my entire life in, a neighborhood I knew nothing about, a neighborhood made up of different worlds, different universes. I looked at my father, my tour guide through this vast place, and saw his chest swell with pride. Had I done that? Had my mere presence on this Monday evening ignited that glimmer in his eye?
I wondered if he felt my love in my silence. I knew he did. I guess that’s just the way love is.