My dad is a good man.

The conversation with my dad this afternoon is thus far the most defining one in our relationship throughout these 20 years.

It was the first time we had a heart to heart talk. He was vulnerable and shared His woes out in a manly fashion. I almost teared whilst listening, though I attempted to wear a smile on my face throughout the talk. Such was the resilience that he had that I haven’t got a clue about before.

I felt extremely guilty for the many times I accused him for not being a dad up to my expectations, not realizing that while I was enjoying my life, he was eating biscuits for 3 meals, and under the hot sun controlling cranes. I blamed him for losing his job and bike, not knowing that he had so many relevant concerns in mind. Whilst I felt really bad, a genuine respect for him gave birth. How stupid, arrogant, and self-righteous I was to think that I’m it.

The needs of this family was why he left church. It was also the same need that he buys lottery, for that very little glimpse of hope that we can meet the ends. I need to stop pointing fingers and start working to be a good son to the best I know how. And I pray that God will do something, anything to bring them closer to him.

I repent. Really do.