To this day I cannot see a bright daffodil, a proud gladiola, or a smooth eggplant without thinking of Papa. Like his plants and trees, I grew up as a part of his garden.

Buscaglia links memory to the sensory world: ordinary sights in a garden—daffodils, gladiolus, eggplant—become triggers that summon his father (“Papa”) into the present. The metaphor of being raised “as a part of his garden” suggests a childhood shaped by steady, patient cultivation rather than force: the father’s care is figured as tending living things, allowing growth according to nature. The line also implies that love and influence persist through associative memory; the parent’s legacy is not only in lessons but in the way the child learns to see the world. The garden becomes a model of family, continuity, and gratitude.