Of my father and ice cream

I had the most wonderful day yesterday. I had the entire day off so I spent the morning with my mom, accompanying her in her errands. Coincidentally, my dad’s meeting finished early and he decided not to return to the office, choosing instead to take me and my mom out to lunch. The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the mall, going into shops and being blown away by how expensive everything is (it’s been a while since any of us did some shopping).

Then I treated my parents to some ice cream. And it was the best feeling ever.

It’s the first time I treated my dad to anything. I’ve been working for two years now and, aside from Christmas and birthday gifts, I’ve never spent my own money on him. He doesn’t want me to. My father is 63 years old and yet he chooses not to retire because he wants to provide a future for us that’s even brighter than the already bright one we have. He gives us everything we, and he’s careful to give us just enough of the things we want so that we wouldn’t feel unnoticed or get spoiled. For 45 years, he’s been working his butt off and not once have I heard him complain about the burden of having to provide for us.

From the moment I started working, that thought has always been on my mind. I wanted to do anything, even the smallest thing, that would show him that I’ve known and appreciated all along every single thing he’s done for me.

And there we were yesterday, in that ice cream shop, after I told him I’d be the one paying, wrestling each other and trying to be the first one to hand over the money to the guy across the counter. I would’ve lost had my mom not ordered my dad to let me pay for them.

So he let go of my arm. Instead, he put his arm around my shoulder, gave a squeeze and said, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

For a vanilla caramel ice cream.

Oh, my dad.

How wonderful it is, and how utterly blessed I am, to be my father’s daughter.


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