When I was younger, my dad used to call me his mini-me. As a kid, I was the spitting image of him. I had his feet, his hands with the curved pinkies, and his giant head. I modeled my personality after him as well, constantly cracking jokes and finding unexplored ways to comedically contort my face. My dad and I could laugh together for hours. Whether it was a song about gravy, Mt. Chasta, and Bane from Batman or contrasting monologues performed in Scottish accents, we made skits and bits out of everything we could get our hands on. Our little two-story house was our stage, full at all hours with performance after performance. As an ex-actor, my dad taught me how to make life like a stage, showing me the importance of not living too seriously. He showed me how fun can diffuse any situation and make even the most boring task an enthralling adventure. Life was magical when we ran through it together. I lost my dad on a summer evening in 2020. My mom and I came home that night to an empty house and an increasingly fervent sense of worry. With each hour that passed, I grew more helpless, sending frantic texts and praying that he was safe. Sadly, my efforts were in vain, as he had died from an unexpected heart attack while running that night. For the first few months, I couldn’t handle myself. I was constantly waiting for him to walk through the front door, explaining where he’d been all this time. I dreamed of him constantly, subconsciously running through the memories we’d made while he was still here. Experiencing loss for the first time is not something anyone can prepare you for. My mom and I survived with gaping holes in our hearts, pushing forward with a strength that seemed impossible. Looking back on this time in my life, it is hard not to imagine myself as a different person. I was awkward at 13, dressed in Nirvana T-shirts and adorned in a gleaming set of very noticeable braces. Besides the loud performer I was at home, I had a shy public persona, wanting to appear cool at all times. My dad’s death aged me, rearranging my priorities immediately. As I processed and mourned further, I became grateful to merely be alive. My heart was beating, my lungs were breathing, so why should I be afraid to express myself? I grew more confident, understanding the importance of taking risks, being embarrassed, and failing. Tragedy, in some strange way, made me understand that I needed to throw fear aside and live my life the way I wanted to live it. Following my passions has been difficult while living in a single-parent household. My mom pushes me to do what brings me joy despite our difficult reality of mortgages and recent extensive medical debt. In college, performance is what makes me the happiest. When I am on stage singing and acting, I understand that the time spent joking and playing with my dad was for a reason. I feel closest to my dad when I’m doing theatre. With each performance I’m in, I imagine him beaming from the back of the theater, laughing his high-pitched laugh for all to hear. He is proud of me for doing what I love. My dad showed me that joy and laughter are necessary for human survival. I want to spend my life pursuing this truth, bringing joy to myself and others through performance, and reminding people that life should be enjoyed to the fullest extent.