My dad

First, I do not have a deep relationship with my dad, and I never had. To me, he was what would later be called a bully, a man who ran things and people with force and strength. But when he needed to get an English course to keep his job, he did come to me and, yes, of course, I taught him English.

He appeared a little different from how I thought he was when my mother needed heavy surgery. Small, afraid and wanting help with his emotions, the bully peeled away like the skins of an onion. Tears, in the eyes of my dad?

Yes, real tears, not from cutting onions. Men don’t cry, remember?

The relationship changed, I think for all of us, after that experience. My father changed and so did all of us, so did I.

The emotions I feel now, tears when I see a puppy picture, or hungry African kids, I now know my dad had the same emotions. He just had a problem showing them, as I do! He was not the bully I thought he was, he just worked hard to keep his family together. I think and hope that I am not a bully…

My mother survived the surgery, and she survived my dad, both are not with us anymore!