He doesn’t know he’s my hero; he probably doesn’t even know how significant he is in my life. It’s ironic because, in fact, my life would be nothing without him.
My father is a man of simplicity, just as I am. I admire him for his patience and intelligence. My father possesses every good quality in the world. In my eyes, he’s a hero, but he doesn’t know it.
The impression he has of me is one who is annoyed. As he speaks, my body language tells him I need him to be quiet and leave me alone. However, every word he says has deep meaning to me.
His lectures, which he thinks I don’t listen to, have an impact on whatever aspect of my life he’s talking about. His countless attempts to begin a conversation with me are what I live for. This is for the father who always was, and always will be, my hero. And he doesn’t even know it.
My father is a man of simplicity, just as I am. I admire him for his patience and intelligence. My father possesses every good quality in the world. In my eyes, he’s a hero, but he doesn’t know it.
The impression he has of me is one who is annoyed. As he speaks, my body language tells him I need him to be quiet and leave me alone. However, every word he says has deep meaning to me.
His lectures, which he thinks I don’t listen to, have an impact on whatever aspect of my life he’s talking about. His countless attempts to begin a conversation with me are what I live for. This is for the father who always was, and always will be, my hero. And he doesn’t even know it.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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