Admittedly, I don’t know much about love. I’ve never had that storybook romance where

I’m swept off my feet by some six foot four white dude with really (and I mean, really) nice eyes.

I’ve never kissed someone in the rain (the Notebook), or driven hundreds of miles to see my girlfriend in college (High School Musical 3).


But let me tell you a story of a man who loved,

though he was never really good at showing it.

It was the second half of the 1900’s. Hong Kong.

No education. Five children to feed.

The man would work long and hard,

Five hours of sleep each night.

And the rest?

Working, and perhaps a few cigarettes on the side.


He kept his dream of becoming a writer quiet –

there was no time for dreams when his hands were kept busy with work.

And when they were empty, they would be reaching for his children and his wife,

as they lived frugally in their one room shack,

with twenty dollars in their pockets.


This man may not have gone to high school or university,

but he knew what love was.

And love was sewing jeans with tobacco stained hands in a factory until midnight,

only to fall asleep and wake up five hours later to repeat the process.

This man may not have had many luxuries,

but he knew what love was.

And love was the priceless jewel that he slaved for,

only to give to his children.


Now this man had four sons and a daughter.

His third son had three children,

and he too knew what love was.

Love meant choosing to see the best in people,

even when he got hurt in the process.

Love was changing diapers at 3 am,

and driving to and fro at the whims of his children.

Love meant saying no, even when wide, crying eyes

begged him to say yes.


Now this man had two daughters and a son.

And his youngest daughter is still learning what love is.

But she has seen it in her father, and her father’s father,

So maybe she knows a little bit, after all.



One Comment

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  1. wow. so cool 😉


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