I am my father�s daughter. I used to think of myself as my mother�s daughter�and my pragmatism shows I am�but I am turning out to be more my father�s daughter than I initially recognized. Some of our similarities are superficial. Like me, the Dad of my childhood was an early riser but not a morning person. When he had all four children running around, he got up early to have those precious solo minutes to pull himself together. I understand his need for those minutes. I hate morning and yet I get up early to have quiet time to gather myself before I truly need to function.

When I was younger, Dad had a column in a monthly trade magazine. He wrote novels (that, unfortunately, are still unpublished.) He wrote verse for his children. No matter how busy he seemed to be, he seemed to write regularly. While I often wrote as a child, I stopped as an adult�until I started this journal.

The older I get, however, the more I am my father�s daughter intellectually. More and more, my reading, my thinking, and even my writing reflect my father�s mind. My interests in biology, in politics, and in religion (from an analytic point of view) mirror his interests. My urge to write and my love of the perfect phrase or word come from him as well.

The way I write this journal especially resembles what Dad does. Dad has been writing a family newsletter almost every week since I left for college. Most family newsletters are filled with the flotsam and jetsam of daily life and Dad�s is no exception. At its best, however, it is more than that. It is a map of his mind as much as of his daily life. Unlike most family newsletters, its readers learn his thinking about President Bush, about Arizona politics, about events within the world of Judaism, and about the small things he encounters. He has no guestbook but he does welcome letters to the editor.

I may not handle much of my world the way my father handles him, but it�s nice to know that he is very much a part of me. It�s fun to realize through my writing that perhaps I am someone just a little different than the person I thought I was. The writing itself connects me with readers, including family and friends. The act of writing connects me with where I come from.

So, Dad, this one�s for you�and if you don�t like it you have yourself to blame.

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