Dad

Not every inheritance can be measured. Sometimes, some just live quietly within us.

Dad,

what can I say about you?
In my heart,
you carry the dignity of a king.

You were not always there,
not physically,
but I always felt your presence.
Despite the distance,
you knew how to make yourself present.

You taught me so much:
the value of hard work,
the wisdom of minding my own business,
of staying out of other people’s affairs,
of not judging them.

You knew when to speak,
when to use the rod of correction.
You knew how to inspire fear,
but even more, respect.
You knew when to be a father,
and when to simply be a friend.

The greatest lessons in life,
I learned from you.

When Mom punished me
and I refused
to eat the food she had cooked,
you punished me a second time.

Not out of cruelty,
but to teach me to respect
the value of Mom’s effort.

Anger should not take away gratitude,
nor our appreciation
for the efforts of others.

You never let us suffer.
You gave us
what you
had never received.

You believed in education
and made it a priority.

I can still hear Grandpa
saying that education
was nothing but a waste of money.

But you,
you wanted us to become more
than what you had been:
educated men,
not simply people
working in the fields.

Yet you never looked down on any kind of work.

You taught us to live simply.

You wanted us to be capable
of living—or surviving—
through any situation,
in any society.

You were not perfect either.

You forced me to study,
to learn everything
my brother wanted to learn:
music, computers, English...

I understand now,
and I respect your intention.

You wanted to give
my brother and me
the same tools
to face life,
you used to say.

It was admirable.
I know that.

And those skills
have truly served me well.

But I wanted, at least,
to have a say.

Your words left their mark on me.
Some of them hurt.

But you did not act
out of cruelty.

No one taught you
how to be a father either.

You did a good job.

Today, your story inspires me:
your resilience, your perseverance,
your courage and your kindness,
despite all the blows life dealt you.

Sometimes I tell myself
that if you had possessed
the knowledge I have today,
you would be the richest man
in the family.

And yet,
you are the one who gave me
the opportunity to gain that knowledge.

I intend to use it
to honor you,
to make you proud.

You know,
people often hear me say:
“My father taught me...”

I even connect you
to lessons
I learned on my own.

Because within me,
in every circumstance,
I always find
some piece of your wisdom
to guide me.

Despite our differences,
you were the one
I felt closest to
in our family.

Sometimes, we would simply laugh,
have fun,
and forget the difference
between father and son.

I followed you everywhere
like a little tail.

They called you gran plantè,
and me ti plantè.

Because we were like old friends.

Not just a father and a son,
but above all,
a father and his son.

Dad,
my heart is filled with your values,
your lessons, your principles, your hopes.

I can only thank God
for choosing you
to be my old man.

And I am grateful,
proud to be
your rebellious son.

🪞 Mirror Question:

Who is the person whose lessons still guide your life today... even when they are no longer beside you?

---

CTA

If this poem resonated with you—or reminded you of a part of yourself—I invite you to share your story in the comments. I’d be honored to read it.

And if these words are something you’d rather carry quietly… thank you for being here.

Sometimes, simply knowing we’re not alone is enough.

Your presence in The Mirror Room means more than you know.

With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.