He doesn't know he's my hero; he probably doesn't know exactly 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. He's admirable for his patience and his intelligence. My father possesses every quality in the world. In my eyes, he's a hero, but he doesn't know it. The impression he has of me as his daughter is that of an annoyed one. As he speaks, my body language tells him I need him to be quiet and leave me alone. However, every word he says has such deep meaning. His lectures, that 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, without an interruption from me, are what I live from and how I've strived. This is to the father that always was, and always will be, my hero. And he doesn't even know it.
He Doesn't Know He's My Hero
December 10, 2007