My father was proud man, but not in the negative sense of the word. He was proud of his family and of our accomplishments. I have said before that we often heard about how he would talk about us to everyone. He and my mother often told us that they were proud of us. Sure, neither one of us chose careers that would make us any money. But we loved what we did, and that was more important.
When conversations arose about me moving back home to help out, they said absolutely not. My life was no longer there. They wanted me to keep growing and moving in a forward direction. To move back home would be to move backwards, and that wasn't right.
I remember my father's excitement the first time I had something publish on what was then known as Associated Content. He was excited to tell people that his daughter had finally been published. I subscribed him to all of my writing sites and he read every word I wrote. (At least that is what he said to me.) I know he forwarded some things on to other people.
He also loved to share my photographs. He spoke highly of my sister's devotion to her missionary career. He also loved to talk about her incredible art talent, even though she barely used it. Her artworks were always proudly displayed in the living room for all to see.
I still often grab the phone to call my parents when I have had a big accomplishment. It's hard for me to not hear their voices telling me how proud they are of me, but I know they still are. And I am proud to be their daughter.