Father, son, and journalism.

(PLVN) - In life, each person will have lessons that don't come from books, nor are they taught in schools, but are taught, sometimes through example, in stories, gestures, actions, and the boundless love of a father for his child.

1. My father, though he never held a pen to write for a newspaper, taught me—a journalist just starting out—how to be a good person and to do my job with all my heart and sincerity. Those invaluable lessons, now and forever, will always be a guiding light for my life and career, and a flame that warms my soul during these uncertain times in life and in this profession of being a "wordsmith."

My father is now 68 years old, his face full of wrinkles from the passage of time. (Illustrative image - Source: ST)

My father, now 68 years old, is an ordinary laborer who has spent his entire life working in the fields, sacrificing his sweat for each plot of land, dedicating his youth to his homeland. His hands are calloused, his face etched with the hardships of time. Yet, his eyes always shine with optimism and faith in life.

My father, due to our family's poverty, had to put aside his studies and leave his fourth-year university degree at the Polytechnic University unfinished to become a "trader" at the border crossing in Lang Son province to help my grandparents support my younger siblings' education. He never wrote for a newspaper, never worked as a journalist, and didn't understand the full concept of journalism. But with a heart scarred by life's hardships, his humanity, combined with a sensitive soul and a profound understanding of people and life, taught me so much about being a good person and doing my job.

I still remember those evenings sitting on the porch with my father, listening to his stories about everyday life—perhaps about an old street vendor who had few customers but always smiled, about soldiers who went to war just one day after getting married, about an older sister who raised her younger siblings after their parents died young, or about my mother, the woman who always worked hard, staying up late and waking up early to help her husband with his work, caring for and raising my four siblings and me to become decent people… My father's stories, no matter who they were about, always depicted kind people in this harsh world.

After years of struggling in the expensive capital city, one day I realized: Those stories were my first lessons on how to listen, observe, and understand – that's how to be a good person, and later, how to be a good journalist.

My father said, "Whatever you do, you must do it with heart. Without heart, no matter how well you do it, it's just an empty shell." That simple yet profound saying has been deeply ingrained in my mind, becoming my guiding principle as I entered the field of journalism.

My father once said that to understand others, you must first put yourself in their shoes. “Every life has its own story; never judge them hastily before you truly understand them…” Over the years, that teaching has guided me through every word, every article, every interview I've given since starting my career. Thanks to that teaching, I learned to listen not only with my ears, but also with my heart, to feel the pain, joy, and desires of each person and situation I encounter. And now I understand: Journalism requires not only talent and expertise, but also ethics and humanity.

Once, while I was finishing an article about the state's land reclamation and resettlement for people in a certain locality, after reading the draft, my father shared: "Don't just write about the procedures for land reclamation and the rights of the people, but also about their legitimate dreams and aspirations and how to 'realize' those dreams. That should be the goal, the core value of your article as well as of journalism."

That lesson was like a ray of sunshine illuminating my heart in my profession, making me realize that journalism is not just about recounting what you see and writing down what you know, but also has a mission to find light in the darkness, to bring hope and solutions to people.

My father, though never a journalist, possessed a keen understanding of communication and storytelling. According to him, a good story doesn't need flowery language or lengthy descriptions, but it must touch the heart of every reader. This is also why, whenever I sit in front of my computer to finish an article, I always ask myself: Who am I writing for? What message or content do I want to convey to the reader?

2. What touches me most when I think about my father is not just the lessons he taught me, but also the unconditional love he gave me. He never forced me to become someone or do something, but always supported me in my own way. When I decided to pursue journalism – a profession he didn't know much about, but knew it wouldn't be easy and would be full of challenges – he simply said, "Whatever path you choose, I believe you will do well, as long as when you look deep into your heart, you don't feel ashamed or guilty about what you've done."

That's why, throughout my years as a journalist, my articles haven't simply been words; they've been a way for me to spread kindness, humanity, and love for others, just as my father lived his whole life and taught his children.

Once, I wrote an article about my mother's silent sacrifices for her family, for her husband and children. When the article was published and I showed it to my father, he said nothing, just smiled and said, "This is a good article," then quietly lit a cigarette and took a sip of tea. At that moment, I saw his eyes were slightly red, but I knew he was happy.

Journalism is a long, challenging, and emotional journey. It's not just about writing; it's about the mission of bringing the truth, inspiring, and connecting people. And throughout that journey, my father has always been a guiding light, a pillar of support for me to keep going. There were days when I felt tired, confused, and wondered if I was truly suited to this path. Each time that happened, I would return to my hometown, to my father's house, to talk to him, to listen to him speak, to hear his stories—stories that seemed humorous and random, but were nonetheless profound and humane. And then, my doubts, my fatigue, and the challenges no longer seemed so difficult.

Now, with all my gratitude and love, I just want to thank my father, the great teacher of my life and the "wordsmith" of my profession. Now and in the future, every article, every journalistic work I write will be a tribute to my father - the teacher of his youngest son. Thank you so much, Dad…

Gia Hai

Source: https://baophapluat.vn/cha-con-va-nghe-bao-post548685.html