Karen: the editor's page.(father-daughter relations)(Editorial)

Sooner or later, all of us (if we're lucky) spend enough time with our dad to realize he's human. For some of us, that's great. Some girls want to know their dads don't have all the answers. That they make mistakes. That they're not able to solve every little problem. I am not one of those people. Why? Because I am my father's daughter. Not to discredit my mum (because some of my best qualities I do indeed set from her), but from simple things like my hobbies (skiing and flying planes) to my personality (my glass is always half full), I am Bob Bokram to the core. While I know my father has his flaws, I've spent decades choosing to gloss over them. Why? I have just always wanted to believe that my dad is Superman.

Two years ago on one of our annual ski trips, I was driving to the slopes on an icy, twisty road when my dad decided to tell me he'd had a stroke two weeks before. Hint to any dads who might be reading this: Don't tell your daughter you almost croaked while she's trying to keep a squirrelly Chevy Tahoe stable on snowpack. I was so freaked out, I didn't feel the right tire catch some ice and I promptly spun us onto the opposite side of the road. Yep, the man survives a clot to the brain and I darn near kill him doing a doughnut. Sweet.

But, in true Superman form, he didn't miss a beat that trip. We spent the week shushing down the slopes like normal and I was able to gloss over the scary reality that the stroke could've killed him.

Fast forward to this year's ski vacay: My dad wasn't feeling well--we'd assumed it was a bad reaction to altitude plus a cold. We were hanging out in the condo when the phone rang for my dad. I yelled to him to pick it up. He didn't respond. 1 got a gut feeling that something was wrong, bolted off the couch and busted into his room. I found him collapsed on the floor.

Ten minutes and a crazy ambulance ride later, he was hooked up to every machine known to man in Aspen Valley Hospital. Pneumonia. For the few days he stayed at the hospital, I didn't move much from his side. I spent hours watching his vital signs, the IV bags of medicine emptying slowly. He'd wake from an hour-long nap and think it was the next morning. He was out of it. I was terrified.

But before I knew it, Dad was joking around with the nurses and telling the doctor he hated to miss getting first tracks on all the fresh powder falling by the bucket out his window. He'd beaten pneumonia and it was time to change back into his Superman cape and tights and head home to Michigan.

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