“Wait, that’s your grandpa, right?”
Even to this day, I can still hear those words echoing in my seven-year-old ears. I would awkwardly nod and laugh it off, but deep down, I knew the truth: he wasn’t my grandpa—he was my dad.
We lived just a 20-minute walk from Highland Oaks Elementary, and every day after school, my dad would wait for me at the bus stop, armed with snacks for my ride to afterschool. No matter the season, he would always be there, never a minute late. But if I’m honest, there was a part of me that dreaded seeing him. I was embarrassed. Embarrassed by his graying hair, the wrinkles that etched his face, the way he resembled my friends’ grandpas more than their dads. I remember the questions: “Why is he so old?” “Why is his hair gray?” Each time, my heart would sink.
I can still see myself crying to my mom, pleading with her to ask him not to come. I remember begging my dad, desperately hoping he would stay home. And I still remember the forced, strained smile on his face every time I asked. If I could turn back time, I would give anything to take it all back.
As the fall festivities fill the air and the school year wraps up, I’m once again faced with that age-old, almost philosophical question: “What am I thankful for?” Within the lists of family, friends, and teachers, there’s one person who I haven’t thanked enough in this lifetime: my dad.
My dad has always stood by me, no matter the circumstances. For as long as I remember he has been a comforting, non-judgmental shoulder to lean on whenever something goes wrong in my life. Even when my grades fall short, he encourages me to keep trying and never gives up on me. Despite the 16-hour time difference, he still goes out of his way to stay in touch, carefully calculating the difference just so he can greet me with good mornings, goodnights and the annual happy birthday message. Thank you dad for all the sleepless nights you went through to cheer me up.
In my family, love was never really expressed through words. Saying “I love you” was rare, almost unconventional for us. But my dad always made sure to show his love through actions. He was a master chef and would always be ready to cook whatever I craved—even dishes he had never even heard of before. Every time he visits America, he wakes up at the crack of dawn to prepare breakfast that is so large that you are full until dinner. Through every carefully cooked meal, he showed me the love that words could never quite capture. His desire to perfect every delicate fold and crease of every dumpling reflected just how deeply he cared. The perfect steamy portions of rice and vegetables brought comfort and warmth in a way that words alone could never convey. In every bite of every meal, I tasted the love that he never needed to say out loud. Thank you dad for every meal you have thoughtfully prepared.
There are countless more thank yous left to give. Thank you for working tirelessly to provide for my education. Thank you for being there whenever Mom and I argue. Thank you for lavishly buying all of the toys I’ve ever desired, even the ones Mom deemed “useless.” Thank you for supporting my every decision without a second thought. Thank you for protecting me from all forms of negativity. Thank you for hiding from me the fact that you had surgery during my final exams, even though I was furious when I found out. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being my dad.
