The earliest memory I have for the man is him walking through the old-wooden door, looking into my curious eyes and asking delightedly, “Remember me?” I don’t. I don’t remember the man who stands tall in front of my four years old self as my father. The father, who I’ve often heard about but never able to recall his looks because he was never home, has his face replaced with disappointment and sadness when I hesitated to answer his question. However, my reaction did not surprise him. He knows that the last time he had seen me was two years ago. He knows that I was too little to know why he is always gone. Yet, his sorrow still falls in when seeing his own daughter forgetting him.

My father has work abroad in the United States since the year I was born. Being the only financial support of the family, he works his first job in a foreign country as a commercial truck driver just so he could send most of his minimum wage home every month in order to feed his wife and three children. His inability to speak a foreign language is also not helping him to get better job in the future. The man tasted a life of desperateness more than anyone I know. He is always the one to experience life’s bumpy roads before anyone else because he knows that he needs to keep working to support his family. Thus, missing them is inevitable because he couldn’t afford that 12 hour plane flight to his real home. And when it is the time that he does come home, he wouldn’t miss the flight for anything in the world.

It isn’t until I truly come to an age of understanding when I realize my father’s hardship of being the only pillar of our family. The man I’ve lift my head up to see when I was little is the greatest man I’ve ever known. He paves the road for me and my sister to become American citizens so we could have a better education and better opportunity in our lives.

“We’re all going to America,” my father cries out one day. He said that all of our immigration applications have been accepted and now all we have to do is to get our VISA signed. The joy that shine on his face is unforgettable. After ten long years of working alone in the United States, he is finally able to ask his family to join him on this journey. It is a dream comes true for all of us.

Even until today, I regret the moment of my first memory of him. I regret not being able to remember my own father after how much he has done for our family. I regret that deep within me during childhood I hold this slight fear toward him because he is so powerful and great. I am proud to say that now I cherish my memory of him more than ever. He has always been my hero and role model that I look up to when I need guidance on my own bumpy roads. It is even ironic to say that though he’s not the parent for me to remember first, he’s definitely the parent I share the closer relationship with.