My Father

By N.A.V

Our Hideaway is a venue for the youth to express themselves and to share with our readers their mind, their heart and their soul.

The author, who is known to the editorial staff, recently graduated from college.

I remember one night when my father came into my room and cried. It was a rare sight, seeing the man of my family break down in tears. Papa had always been a strong man, no challenge he met undefeated. He knew the game of life and how to play it well. But when he lost to fate he didn’t show it to his children.

But as the youngest son I know the things that my father has gone through, and to the game has been no easy feat. He almost lost his marriage when he discovered my mother had another man, but soon forgave her for our sake. He lost his job once. And in 2003, he lost my mother to cancer.

I’ve seen him face his battles, and I’ve seen him stand tall again. He still wakes up to laugh, as if to say he can still carry on, that he can tolerate more pain, because he’s been tested and proven, because his children need him to be strong. He has always been like that.

But that night, when I saw his eyes damp and his posture slouched, I had no idea what to do. I felt confused, or sorry, or sad, because after he had worked half of his life trying to ensure that his three children would take the right path, he was finally admitting that he was no superhuman but fragile. I hugged him because I didn’t have anything else to say.

‘I love you all’, he said, ‘all three of you’. He shed tears between his words, and I couldn’t contain my emotions either as I had been caught off guard. I let some tears fall too.

He was saying that he’d been doing everything to pay my tuition, and that he was trying his best just so I could graduate, just so he could see me receive my diploma, because I was his investment, his youngest son, his only hope.

My brother and sister finished college, yes, but very soon set up families of their own and so they weren’t able to support Papa for my college education. Now when I was halfway through college, Papa’s random gesture only showed how hard it has been for him to be a single parent to us.

That’s why his words that night strike me every time I tend to lose focus. My father hasn’t lost his faith to me, so I shouldn’t let him down. After all my imperfections and shortcomings, he still believes in me.

Less than a month from now, as I write, I want to repay Papa with my graduation. That will be my gift for him, to let him see his youngest son reaping the fruit of his labor. I will wear that black toga with a smile painted on my face and receive that hard-earned diploma that will mean that I am a step closer to my dreams. To Papa’s dreams.

Papa may not be a perfect dad, but I know in my heart that it doesn’t measure his being a father. He will let me go soon in the same way he has let go of my siblings after they graduated. But I will always remember the man who made us who we are now. And I cannot thank him enough for always believing in me.