My father was among the throngs of people who converged for the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge in May 1937, two years before he arrived in Hawaii, and a decade before I arrived in this world.

He was 23 years old, and was working for the Dohrmann Hotel Supply Company in Los Angeles. The company had a headquarters in San Francisco where he went for training, and where he lobbied for a transfer to a small Dorhmann office in Honolulu.

He eventually succeeded in getting that job in Honolulu and boarded an island-bound ship at the end of April 1939. He arrived on the dock in Honolulu on May 1, 1939.

Happy Fathers Day! Almost everyone misses their father, even if your relationships were complicated, and I’m no exception. In October, it will be ten years since his death. It doesn’t feel that long. And it feels like forever. Life is like that.