First time writing about dad

Not because I forgot, but perhaps because of fatherly love - a silent, silent and tolerant feeling that always makes me confused every time I pick up a pen.

My father was the quietest man I knew. All his life, he shouldered the family's burden with his thin shoulders and calloused hands from hard work.

People often say that fate is something no one can choose. But for my father, it seemed that the storms of life always came unexpectedly to him, fate continuously poured on him a series of painful and cruel days.

His grandparents passed away early when his father was just a 15-year-old boy, the age when he should still be going to school, carefree, but he had to grow up early, struggle to make a living, replace his parents to raise and educate 3 young siblings, helpless in life.

Then when the children grew up, it seemed like their father's life would end the difficult years and turn to a new page, having a small family, with a wife and children gathered around, but misfortune struck once again.

My mother - my father's strong "rear" suddenly passed away in a traffic accident. Everything happened so fast, so cruelly. At that time, I had just set foot in the university lecture hall for exactly one week. My youngest brother was only 3 years old, not old enough to understand that he had lost the most sacred maternal love forever, from now on he would no longer be able to call "mom" every day.

I still remember that tragic moment clearly, my father quietly and calmly took care of the funeral, but his thin shoulders seemed to collapse under the heavy burden. I accidentally caught my father's worried eyes about the uncertain future of his five young children.

My father started working hard day and night, regardless of rain or shine, hardship or long distance, he still did not hesitate to earn money to take care of our education. Every month I went back to my hometown to visit my father and siblings a couple of times, and every time I returned to Saigon, I could not hold back my tears when I held the tuition money my father gave me, because more than anyone else I understood that that money was soaked in my father's sweat and tears. But my father never complained, always sacrificed silently for his children. He was gentle and affectionate, but not good at expressing his love, he only knew that he always wanted to take all the hardships for himself, so that his children could be happy. Throughout his life, my father was accustomed to loss, sacrifice and pain that could not be expressed in words. But he never let us lack love, or lose faith in life.

There are nights when I suddenly wonder: How can a person endure so much and still be so gentle? How can a father who has lost almost everything still remain steadfast enough to be a support for his children?

Maybe to the world, my father is just an ordinary man, without fame, without glory… However, to us, he is a monument. A monument not built of stone, but carved with love and silent sacrifices.

Now, my father is 77 years old, his hair is gray, his back is hunched, and his health is poor. As for me, because of my job, I cannot visit him as often as before. Every time I come back to buy gifts, my father tells me: "Don't buy anymore next time, it's too expensive." I know that throughout his life, the happiest thing for him was not gifts, but seeing his children grow up, be well-off, and live as decent people in this life.

And today, for the first time, I write about my father, not only to thank him for giving birth to me and sacrificing everything for me to be who I am today, but these are also the lines for me to remind myself: Love your father while you still can.

Source: https://baobinhphuoc.com.vn/news/19/174478/lan-dau-viet-ve-cha