My father passed in June 2004, when I was 11 years old. He was diagnosed with Stage Four colorectal cancer when I was 21 days old. I assisted my mother with his care most of the second half of those eleven years. Cancer means many things, much more than what I heard his doctors say. I found myself often aiding in the careful watch over him, encouraging him to take his medication when he really despised their adverse side effects. Mom tells me it was I who gave him the strength for him to carry through. For this reason, I knew my responsibilities at home differed from that of my friend's. I didn't mind, as I recognized my help was for the person I loved dearly. Together, my mother & I witnessed my father persevere an unthinkable eleven years of pills, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and multiple surgeries, all with the greatest faith and optimism. Together, we waited for new treatments and drugs to wart off the progression of his disease. Medical research is costly. My family taught me at a very young age to be full of strength, character and faith. Part of this is the faith is that there can be treatment and cure through the effort of cancer research which relies on financial donations to happen.