My Father

Land of prosperity: the place for freedom and a brighter future. Anomalous customs and language barrier, he entered unfamiliar territory. Composure, integrity, and hope. Exhaustion: perpetuated by the long hours of manual labor. Shackling his life to the ideal of America, the touted “American Dream” He was proactive both in action and opinion-- broken things became fixed, problems were alleviated with a smile. There was never a single complaint. His outlet was through gambling- the thrill that came along with not knowing the next hand, from a coping mechanism to an addiction. Then came the lying; newer lies layering over the old ones, thoughts of how next time-- next time. His addiction was a sickness. Guilt, aggravation, shame. Guilty that he spent the family’s money on such a detrimental vice, Aggravated that he could not overcome his addiction, Ashamed for ruining his peerless image in the eyes of his daughter. He moved quietly, bestowing great words of wisdom. He placed within his daughter a willingness to provide aid without criticism. He guided her towards the right path whenever there were roadblocks He was her source of strength when she needed the most support. He was the one who showed her the stars and taught her how to reach for them, even as he failed to control his own vices. The veritable link between my father and myself.