Once, when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for the circus. Finally, there was only one family between us and the ticket counter.
This family made a big impression on me. There were eight children, all probably under the age of 12. You could tell they didnt have a lot of money.
Their clothes were not expensive, but they were clean. The children were well-behaved, all of them standing in line, two-by-two behind their parents, holding hands. They were excitedly jabbering about the clowns, elephants, and other acts they would see that night.
One could sense they had never been to the circus before. It promised to be a highlight of their young lives. The father and mother were at the head of the pack, standing proud as could be.
The mother was holding her husbands hand, looking up at him as if to say, "Youre my knight in shining armor."
He was smiling and basking in pride, looking back at her as if to reply, "You got that right."
The ticket lady asked the father how many tickets he wanted. He proudly responded, "Please let me buy eight childrens tickets and two adult tickets so I can take my family to the circus."
The ticket lady quoted the price. The mans wife let go of his hand, her head dropped, and his lip began to quiver. The father leaned a little closer and asked, "How much did you say?"
The ticket lady again quoted the price. The man didnt have enough money.
How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn‘t have enough money to take them to the circus? Seeing what was going on, my dad put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill and dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of the word!)
My father reached down, picked up the bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, sir, this fell out of your pocket."
The man knew what was going on. He wasnt begging for a handout but certainly appreciated the help in a desperate, heartbreaking, embarrassing situation. He looked straight into my dads eyes, took my dads hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $20 bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear running down his cheek, he replied, "Thank you, thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family."
My father and I went back to our car and drove home. We didnt go to the circus that night, but we didnt go without.
Flowers are a wonderful gift of nature. Everyone likes them. Flowers portray love, happiness, joy and all the other positive emotions. Since time immemorial flowers have been an integral part of every celebration and festival.
But there has been a misconception. Flowers are mainly associated with feminine gender. It is forgotten that men to have a soft side to them. Gift your father a bouquet of flowers on Fathers Day and he surely will be overjoyed. Flowers, especially architectural and bold like tropical flowers, which are masculine, long lasting, tall and sturdy like the fathers usually are, can be given. White and Red Rose are known to be the official flowers of Fathers Day. People wear a white rose to honor a father who has deceased and a red rose for a father who is living.
Men love bright, hot, bold and aggressive colors like yellows, oranges, purples and reds and the arrangements that they go for are mostly the linear ones that are in sync with their organized, calculating mind. They also love the natural and contemporary floral bouquets that are stylish and trendy. One may opt for roses, daisies or exotic flowers, if only one keeps the color theme in mind. Vivid red roses and yellow daisies are loved by most men and thus make ideal flowers to be gifted on Fathers Day.
mothers love wi peoples praises for its selfle e . in fact, fathers love is as great as that. they bury their love in the deep bottom of their hearts and will never show it. my father is of this kind. i remembered once i felt ill. mother wa t at home at that moment. father acted as a father and as a mother as well. when he came home from work, he would cook di er for me first. the way he fed me made me think of my kind and tender mother. his eyes were full of love and expectation. i did feel a fathers love at that time.
motherly love by its very nature is unconditional. mother loves the newborn infant because it is her child, not because the child has fulfilled any specific condition, or lived up to any specific expectation.unconditional love corresponds in one of the deepest longings, not only of the child, but of every human being; on the other hand, to be loved because of ones merit, because one deserves it, always leaves doubt: maybe i did not please the person whom i want to love me, maybe this or that--there is always a fear that love could disappear. furthermore, "deserved" love easily leaves a bitter feeling that one is not loved for oneself, that one is loved only because one pleases, that one is, in the last analysis, not loved at all but used. no wonder that we all cling to the longing for motherly love, as children and also as adults. the relationship to father is quite different. mother is the home we come from, she is nature, soil, the ocean; father does not represent any such natural home. he has little connection with the child in the first years of his life, and his importance for the child in this early period cannot be compared with that of mother.
but while father does not represent thenatural world, he represents the other pole of human existence; the world of thought, of man-made things, of law and order, of discipline, of travel and adventure. father is the one who teaches the child, who shows him the road into the world. fatherly love is conditional love. its principle is "1 love you because you fulfill my expectations, because you do your duty, because you are like me." in conditional fatherly love we find, as with unconditional motherly love, a negative and a positive aspect. the negative aspect is the very fact that fatherly love has to be deserved, that it can be lost if one does not do what is expected. the positive side is equally important. since his love is conditional, i can do something to acquire it, i can work for it; his love is not outside of my control as motherly love is.
It is said that a mothers love of selfless, deep, broad, but the father loves the also is not small.
My father temper is a little irritable, angry is very strict, but sometimes he is very gentle, humor, old and Im kidding; Dad grow tall, long face, a pair of bright eyes.
Dad is very strict to my request, English or at least more than 95 points, whenever see English, returned home dad a inquiry, one heard my English achievement is not ideal, his mood is bad. So, English scores sometimes make me happy, sometimes make me suffer.
Once, when English examination paper hair down, how I want to can score over 95 points, I have a look, I only got 86 points, I cried, I every English exam 90 points, but this is only got 86 points, Im disappointed, at the thought of love home scolded, I am afraid. One time in the past, I was back home, heart pounding, also dare not face dad, I went to my room, but still didnt escape dads critical. Father asked: "daughter, English? I cant say, because I dont know dad hear my grades will be angry." Dad asked again, I cant, I have been said: "I... I... just... 86 points." Dad came over and I am very worried, seemed to jump out of the new pump, but dad said, "daughter, after careful study, got good or bad doesnt matter, the important thing is that you have seriously to learn, so long as the efforts." Dads attitude is I cant catch you at the moment. I want to; daddy not only dont scold me, but the education I, I will study hard, get good grades to repay my father, let my father live each day with a smile.
I for I have a kind and strict father proud.
My father was a self-taught mandolin player. He was one of the best string instrument players in our town. He could not read music, but if he heard a tune a few times, he could play it. When he was younger, he was a member of a small country music band. They would play at local dances and on a few occasions would play for the local radio station. He often told us how he had auditioned and earned a position in a band that featured Patsy Cline as their lead singer. He told the family that after he was hired he never went back. Dad was a very religious man. He stated that there was a lot of drinking and cursing the day of his audition and he did not want to be around that type of environment.
Occasionally, Dad would get out his mandolin and play for the family. We three children: Trisha, Monte and I, George Jr., would often sing along. Songs such as the Tennessee Waltz, Harbor Lights and around Christmas time, the well-known rendition of Silver Bells. "Silver Bells, Silver Bells, its Christmas time in the city" would ring throughout the house. One of Dads favorite hymns was "The Old Rugged Cross". We learned the words to the hymn when we were very young, and would sing it with Dad when he would play and sing. Another song that was often shared in our house was a song that accompanied the Walt Disney series: Davey Crockett. Dad only had to hear the song twice before he learned it well enough to play it. "Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier" was a favorite song for the family. He knew we enjoyed the song and the program and would often get out the mandolin after the program was over. I could never get over how he could play the songs so well after only hearing them a few times. I loved to sing, but I never learned how to play the mandolin. This is something I regret to this day.
Dad loved to play the mandolin for his family he knew we enjoyed singing, and hearing him play. He was like that. If he could give pleasure to others, he would, especially his family. He was always there, sacrificing his time and efforts to see that his family had enough in their life. I had to mature into a man and have children of my own before I realized how much he had sacrificed.
I joined the United States Air Force in January of 1962. Whenever I would come home on leave, I would ask Dad to play the mandolin. Nobody played the mandolin like my father. He could touch your soul with the tones that came out of that old mandolin. He seemed to shine when he was playing. You could see his pride in his ability to play so well for his family.
When Dad was younger, he worked for his father on the farm. His father was a farmer and sharecropped a farm for the man who owned the property. In 1950, our family moved from the farm. Dad had gained employment at the local limestone quarry. When the quarry closed in August of 1957, he had to seek other employment. He worked for Owens Yacht Company in Dundalk, Maryland and for Todd Steel in Point of Rocks, Maryland. While working at Todd Steel, he was involved in an accident. His job was to roll angle iron onto a conveyor so that the welders farther up the production line would have it to complete their job. On this particular day Dad got the third index finger of his left hand mashed between two pieces of steel. The doctor who operated on the finger could not save it, and Dad ended up having the tip of the finger amputated. He didnt lose enough of the finger where it would stop him picking up anything, but it did impact his ability to play the mandolin.
After the accident, Dad was reluctant to play the mandolin. He felt that he could not play as well as he had before the accident. When I came home on leave and asked him to play he would make excuses for why he couldnt play. Eventually, we would wear him down and he would say "Okay, but remember, I cant hold down on the strings the way I used to" or "Since the accident to this finger I cant play as good". For the family it didnt make any difference that Dad couldnt play as well. We were just glad that he would play. When he played the old mandolin it would carry us back to a cheerful, happier time in our lives. "Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier", would again be heard in the little town of Bakerton, West Virginia.
In August of 1993 my father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. He chose not to receive chemotherapy treatments so that he could live out the rest of his life in dignity. About a week before his death, we asked Dad if he would play the mandolin for us. He made excuses but said "okay". He knew it would probably be the last time he would play for us. He tuned up the old mandolin and played a few notes. When I looked around, there was not a dry eye in the family. We saw before us a quiet humble man with an inner strength that comes from knowing God, and living with him in ones life. Dad would never play the mandolin for us again. We felt at the time that he wouldnt have enough strength to play, and that makes the memory of that day even stronger. Dad was doing something he had done all his life, giving. As sick as he was, he was still pleasing others. Dad sure could play that Mandolin!
After Mom died,I began visiting Dad every morning before I went to work.He was frail and moved slowly,but he always had a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the kitchen table for me,along with an unsigned note reading,“Drink your juice.”Such a gesture,I knew,was as far as Dad had ever been able to go in expressing his love.In fact,I remember,as a kid I had questioned Mom“Why doesnt Dad love me!”Mom frowned.“Who said he doesnt love you!”“Well,he never tells me,”I complained.“He never tells me either,”she said,smiling.“But look how hard he works to take care of us,to buy us food and clothes,and to pay for this house.Thats how your father tells us he loves us.”Then Mom held me by the shoulders and asked,“Do you understand!”
I nodded slowly.I understood in my head,but not in my heart.I still wanted my father to put his arms around me and tell me he loved me.Dad owned and operated a small scrap.metall business,and after school I often hung around while he worked.I always hoped hed ask me to help and then praise me for what I did.He never asked.His tasks were too dangerous for a young boy to attempt,and Mom was already worried enough that hed hurt himself.Dad hand fed scrap steel into a device that chopped it as cleanly as a butcher chops a rack of ribs.The machine looked like a giant pair of scissors,with blades thicker than my fathers body.If he didnt feed those terrifying blades just right,he risked serious injury.
“Why dont you hire someone to do that for you!”Mom asked Dad one night as she bent over him and rubbed his aching shoulders with a strong smelling liniment.“Why dont you hire a cook!”Dad asked,giving her one of his rare smiles.Mom straig htened and put her hands on her hips.“Whats the matter,Ike!Dont you like my cooking!”“Sure I like your cooking But if I could afford a helper,then you could afford a cook”Dad laughed,and for the first time I realized that my father had a sense of humor.The chopping machine wasnt the only hazard in his business.He had an acetylene torch for cutting thick steel plates and beams.To my ears the torch hissed louder than a steam locomotive,and when he used it to cut through steel,it blew off thousands of tiny pieces of molten metal that swarmed around him like angry fireflies.
Many years later,during my first daily visit,after drinking the juice my father had squeezed for me,I walked over,hugged him and said,“I love you,Dad.”From then on I did this every morning.My father never told me how he felt about my hugs,and there was never any expression on his face when I gave them.Then one morning,pressed for time,I drank my juice and made for the door.
Dad stepped in front of me and asked,“Well!”“Well what!”I asked,knowing exactly what.“Well!”he repeated,crossing his arms and looking everywhere but at me.I hugged him extra hard.Now was the right time to say what Id always wanted to.“Im fifty years old,Dad,and youve never told me you love me.”My father stepped away from me.He picked up the empty juice glass,washed it and put it away.“Youve told other people you love me.”I said,“but Ive never heard it from you.”Dad looked uncomfortable.Very uncomfortable.I moved closer to him.“Dad,I want you to tell me you love me.”Dad took a step back,his lips pressed together.He seemed about to speak,then shook his head.“Tell me”I shouted. “All right I love you”Dad finally blurted,his hands fluttering like wounded birds.And in that instant something occurred that I had never seen happen in my life.His eyes glistened,then overflowed.
I stood before him,stunned and silent.Finally,after all these years,my heart joined my head in understanding.My father loved me so much that just saying so made him weep,which was something he never,ever wanted to do,least of all in front of family.Mom had been right.Every day of my life Dad had told me how much he loved me by what he did and what he gave.“I know,Dad,”I said.“I know.”And now at last I did.
mothers love wins peoples praises for its selflessness. in fact, fathers love is as great as that. they bury their love in the deep bottom of their hearts and will never show it. my father is of this kind.
i remembered once i felt ill. mother wasnt at home at that moment. father acted as a father and as a mother as well. when he came home from work, he would cook dinner for me first.
the way he fed me made me think of my kind and tender mother. his eyes were full of love and epectation. i did feel a fathers love at that time.
My father was born in 1940.He was a son of a teacher.He lived in Sichuan Province when he was young,Later he left for Xinjiang at the age of twenty,and has lived there until now.
Myfather is thin,not tall,and has a serious-looking face.Though hes sometimes bad=temered,he is a very good man at heart.He shows deep concern for others and often helps them out of their difficulties.For this reason his colleagues and our neighbours like him very much.They call him a man of Leifeng type.
My father works as an engineer in a machinery plant.He immerses himself in his word all day long,always forgetting to stop for a rest.So he is said to be "a tireless man".In the plant his main task is designing new machines and improving the old ones.some of the machines he has designed are being exported to foreign countries.The old machines he has improved operte well.
My father is a qualified engineer.I was told that he will be promoted to be a chief engineer soon.I love my father.I wish him good luck.
Father was my first teacher and is my dear friend. When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my fathers knees, listening to his stories. The story"Two friends and a Bear"told me"a friend in need is a friend indeed."I will never forget the story"Madame Curie"which tells me a truth"where there is a will,there is a way."Fathers stories enriched my life and did a lot of good to my growth.
When I was seven years old,I started primary school.I was young,so my father picked me up from school every day.On the way,I told father everything that happened at school.Father listened carefully and always smiled happily. Sometimes I sang a beautiful song. My sweet and lovely voice gave my father the greatest pride.My father is always proud of me. He hopes I will make great progress in my study. Now I have made up my mind to study harder and harder.
Im sure my fathers love will lead me to my success and I will love him forever!
On the way to Harbin,I felt so sick in the train.When I woke up at midnight,I found my Dad sitting by me with tired eyes.At this very moment,I felt deeply that my Dad was becoming older.Looking at his eyes,I burst into tears. I really wondered how he felt when he returned home,just in the same train,taking 36hours for the long journey.Later on,I called him and asked this question.He just said："It doesnt matter.All of you have done a good job.As your father,I am so proud."
The love between family members is precious only when we are parted,maybe.The love between my father and me is clearer,only when it is conducted by a three-thousand-kilometre-long phone line,and only then the bad time when we had some argument between us. These past few years,I felt regret for not understanding my Dad for so long.If only I were a good boy!M y Dad didnt demand that I should be very good at studying,never.He just hoped that I could live creatively.In my life,he sets a good example for me and teaches me how to study,how to be a good man and how to live in the world!
This is a very well-structured and reflective account of the relationship between a young man and his father.It has few mistakes in word order. But the simple style suits the subject.There is good use of detail in small incidents such as the father carrying the boy on his shoulders and the train journey.