My Father had a Dream

I was born on a cold October night, a night etched in the depths of my memory, even though it was long before I could truly understand the world around me. As a child, I watched my father meticulously build our home, brick by brick, with a dedication that seemed to transcend the ordinary. Each brick he laid was not just a building block, but a symbol of his dreams, hopes, and love for our family. That humble structure, which we called "Home Sweet Home," was more than just a house; it was a testament to his unwavering commitment to providing us with a safe and loving environment.

My father had an old car, one that he cherished deeply. Every Sunday, like clockwork, he would drive it to church for the Sunday service. The car was more than just a means of transportation; it was a symbol of his pride and joy, something he had worked hard to maintain and keep running. But everything changed the day I called him "Papa" for the first time. The joy in his eyes was indescribable. In that moment, I became the center of his universe. He no longer dreamed of building bigger houses or buying newer cars because I had become his dream. His ambitions shifted from personal accomplishments to ensuring my happiness and well-being.

I vividly remember the day I first spelled out "A B C." The sheer joy that radiated from my father was unforgettable. He danced around the room, his face beaming with pride, and he begged me to spell it out again and again. It was as if my small achievement was the culmination of all his dreams. His happiness was no longer tied to his own successes but to mine. My accomplishments, no matter how small, became the source of his greatest joys.

My father’s love and sacrifices were limitless. There was a time when I was young and crying uncontrollably, and he did something that still brings tears to my eyes when I think about it. He had a cookie in his mouth, but seeing my distress, he took it out after just two chews and fed it to me. He sacrificed the small pleasure of enjoying a treat just to see me smile. This small act of love was symbolic of the many sacrifices he made throughout my life. My father wasn’t just any man; he was my hero, a man who would give up his own happiness without a second thought to ensure mine.

As I grew older and entered high school, I became more aware of the world around me. I noticed the fashion trends that my friends followed, and I started wearing long pants and sneakers to fit in. My father, always mindful of my needs, adapted to these changes in his own way. He began wearing half-pants instead of long ones, and traded in his sturdy shoes for simple slippers. He bled his hands, working tirelessly, so that I could have the things I desired. While I was focused on keeping up with fashion, I failed to recognize the sacrifices he made to provide for me.

In the pursuit of growing up, I forgot that I was my father’s dream. I took for granted the selfless acts of love he performed daily. I was too busy chasing my own dreams to realize that he had given up his own for me. It wasn’t until later in life that I truly understood the depth of his sacrifices. Now, I do everything in my power to bring a smile to his face, just as he did for me throughout my life. I buy cookies for him, hoping that in some small way, I can repay the countless sacrifices he made.

My father is not just a man; he is a hero in every sense of the word. He taught me the true meaning of love, sacrifice, and selflessness. I am forever grateful for everything he has done for me, and I strive every day to make him proud. My hero, my dad, the man who made me his dream.