The title of this article is “My Dad” rather than “My Father.”
Because in my heart, “Father” feels like a formal term adults use for their dads. But my dad never sees me as a nearly 30-year-old grown man—he always thinks the bags I’m carrying are too heavy, then takes them from my hands and shoulders them himself.
My dad only has an elementary school education and hasn’t read many books. He was the youngest among his siblings, and also the weakest physically. In his youth, he caught fish, sold fish at the market, worked as a rickshaw puller, and finally worked in a factory. From an economic perspective, it seems dad couldn’t provide me with an affluent material life.
But looking back on my life, at every critical moment, he was there.
The night I was born, mom had a difficult labor.
There’s a folk belief: if you open all the cabinet doors in the house, the child will be born smoothly. In the middle of the night, with rain pouring outside, dad rode his bike home on the muddy dirt road, even having to pass through a cemetery on the way. When he got home, he opened every cabinet door—I heard he didn’t even spare the thermos lid.
When I was safely born, dad cried.
I don’t know if it’s a coincidence, but years later when my daughter was born, my tears wouldn’t stop flowing either. Perhaps, this is the inheritance of life, and also the inheritance of a father’s love.
When dad came back from fishing in my childhood, he would always bring snacks. My deepest memory is of a time when he brought back a Xiangbalao chicken drumstick. When I bit through the bone, I discovered there was juice inside—it tasted amazing.
Later, I’ve eaten chicken drumsticks from many brands, including Xiangbalao itself, but I could never find that taste again. Perhaps that flavor was childhood, anticipation, and even more so, dad’s love.
For the junior high school PE exam’s 1000-meter run, I never scored full marks during practice.
On exam day, I was halfway through when I suddenly noticed dad standing outside the school’s back gate watching. In that moment, I felt like I had infinite strength.
And then, I got full marks.
After graduating high school, dad accompanied me to buy my first computer. I still remember the barely containable excitement we felt sitting on the bus ride home. That was a precious moment belonging to us father and son.
Going to Taizhou for university was my first time leaving home for a distant place. Dad accompanied me on a very long bus ride, and that was also my first time experiencing motion sickness.
From then on, whether for school or work, after getting off the bus, dad would almost always ask me: “Did you get motion sick?” This simple greeting has continued for all these years.
Once after getting married, my wife and I had a fierce argument. I lost control of my emotions and called mom.
Two or three hours later, my parents appeared downstairs at my apartment complex.
You have to understand, from their place to my complex takes that long one way, and when I called, they were still at work. They dropped everything and rushed over, just to make sure I was okay.
I am someone who was spoiled and pampered. Dad protected me so well that it wasn’t until I grew up that I gradually understood:
Fishing is not only exhausting but also dangerous. Most fishermen can’t swim because if you fall into the sea, the waves are too strong—even knowing how to swim won’t help.
Selling fish at the market means rising early and sleeping late, having to go purchase stock before dawn.
How tough the night shifts were for a rickshaw puller. Dad once told me that after taking a passenger to their destination, they refused to pay and even kicked him.
Hearing these things, I finally realized: Dad actually provided me with enormous economic support. He just bore all the hardships himself. He truly worked so hard.
Why am I writing all this today? Because I’ve become a dad myself.
Most people don’t truly understand how difficult their own dads had it until they become fathers themselves.
If 10 is a perfect score, I can proudly say: objectively my dad scores a 9, but in my heart, he gets a 10.
In the future, I will strive to be a good dad, and at the same time strive to be a good son.
The internet has memory.
I hope the internet remembers my dad well.
Dedicated to every dad—that person who was present at every important moment in our lives.
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