I’m working lately in a blog in memory of my father , a Croatian Journalist, writer, poet and University teacher. These days I’m reading his diaries, looking for his manuscripts and when I see his characteristic handwriting, my mind and my soul get full of remembrances of him. I can see him writing at his desk with his pen, or typing in his Olivetti . He always had the door of his little working room open for us, little children playing and making noise all around. No matter how busy he was, he never closed his door. That was dad, an open door.