Our steps are difficult to coordinate-he often stops and my steps are impatient. Because of this, we seldom talk along the way. But every time he goes out, he always says, "You go at your pace and I'll follow you."
We usually go back and forth between the entrance and the entrance of the subway, which is his route to work. Even if he is ill or the weather is bad, he insists on going to work and almost never misses work. He always arrives at the office on time, even if others can't. This is something to be proud of. When the road is covered with snow and ice, it is difficult for him to walk even if someone helps him. At such times, my sisters or I would drag him through the streets of Brooklyn, new york, to the subway station in a children's cart with steel wheels. As soon as he got there, he grabbed the handrail of the subway entrance and walked down, because it was warmer in the subway and there was no ice and snow on the steps below. The subway station in Manhattan goes straight to the basement of their office building, so he doesn't have to leave the station. When we come home from work, we will meet him at the subway station in Brooklyn. Looking back now, I can't help but wonder how brave an adult like him had to be to bear such humiliation and pressure, but at that time he didn't seem to be in pain or complaining.
He never said he was poor, nor did he show envy compared with his lucky or healthy people. What he seeks from others is a kind heart. Once found, that person is a great man in his mind. Now that I have grown up, I believe this is the standard to judge a person. Although I haven't exactly understood what "kindness" is, I know that I don't have such "kindness" sometimes.
Although my father can't participate in many activities, he still tries to participate in some way. When a local baseball team lacks a manager, he keeps the team running normally. He is a well-informed baseball fan and often takes me to Eberts Stadium to watch Brooklyn Dodgers games. He likes to attend all kinds of dances and parties. Although he can only sit there and watch, he can also enjoy himself. I remember at a beach party, there was a fight and everyone punched and kicked each other. He just sat there watching, but it didn't help. He couldn't stand up on the soft beach. So in extreme helplessness, he shouted: "Who will sit down and fight with me! Who wants to sit down and fight with me! " No one sat down to fight him. The next day, people joked with him, saying that this was the first time they heard that boxers were asked to fall to the ground and give up before starting the game.
Now I know that he indirectly participated in some things through me, his only son. When I play ball (my skill is poor), he also "plays"; Later, I joined the navy, so did he. He insisted that I go to his office when I got home from vacation. When introducing me, although he didn't say it, he actually said, "This is my son, but it's also me. If I hadn't been lame, I would have been like him. "
Now my father has been dead for many years, but I still think of him often. I wonder if he noticed that I didn't want to be seen when we traveled together. If he really notices, I am ashamed. I can't tell him how sorry I am, how unfilial I am, and how sorry I am. Now whenever I complain about trifles, whenever I envy others that their luck is better than mine, and whenever I have no "kindness", I will think of him. At this time, I imagined that I would put my hand on his arm and restore my balance. I will say, "You move at your pace and I will follow you."
When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He is very lame and short. When we walk together, his hand rests on my arm to keep balance and people will stare at him. I will struggle in my heart with unnecessary attention. If he notices or is disturbed, he never reveals it.
It's difficult to coordinate our steps-he faltered and I was impatient-which is why we didn't talk much all the way. But when we set out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adapt to you. " We usually walk to and from the subway he takes to work. In spite of the bad weather, he went to work sick. He almost never misses a day, even if others can't, he will go to the office. Something to be proud of.
When there is snow or ice on the ground, he can't walk even with help. At such times, my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, new york, with a stroller with steel pulleys, all the way to the subway entrance. Once there, he will hold on to the handrail until he reaches the lower step, because the warmer tunnel air won't freeze. In Manhattan, the subway station is in the basement of his office building, and he doesn't have to go out again until we pick him up in Brooklyn.
When I think about it now, I am amazed at how much courage it takes for an adult to put himself under such humiliation and pressure. And how he did it-without pain or complaint. He never describes himself as an object of pity, nor does he envy people who are luckier or more capable. What he is looking for in others is a "kind heart". If he finds it, the owner is good enough for him.
Now that I have grown up, I believe this is the proper criterion for judging people, although I still don't know what a "kind heart" is. But I know I don't have time myself.
My father can't take part in many activities, but he still tries to take part in some way. When a local baseball team found that it didn't have a manager, it continued to operate. He is a knowledgeable baseball fan and often takes me to Ebitz Baseball Field to watch Brooklyn Dodgers games. He likes to go to dances and parties, where he can sit and watch and have a good time. Once, there was a fight at a beach party, and everyone punched and kicked. He is not satisfied with sitting and watching, but he can't stand alone on the soft beach. Frustrated, he began to shout, "I'll fight whoever wants to sit down with me!" I'll fight whoever wants to sit down with me! " Nobody knows. But the next day, people made fun of him and said that this was the first time that a boxer was asked to bow his head and give up before the fight began.
I now know that he participated in some things through me, his only son. When I play ball (badly), he also plays ball. When I joined the navy, so did he. He made sure that I went to his office when I came home from vacation. When introducing me, he really said, "This is my son, but it's also me. If things were not like this, I would do the same." These words have never been said out loud.
He has been dead for many years, but I often think of him. I don't know if he feels that I don't want to be seen while we are walking. If he did, I'm sorry I didn't tell him how sorry I am, how unworthy I am, and how sorry I am. When I complain about trifles, when I envy others' good fortune, when I have no "kindness", I will think of him. At such times, I will put my hand on his arm to regain my balance and say to him, "You set the speed. I will try to adapt to you. "