"A 92?"
"Yeah. I got two wrong, dad."
He scribbled over the margins and produced his usual incomprehensible signature.
"Good job."
My dad is the type of person who never noticed that words hurt. The words stung my ears and a bitter taste entered my mouth. So no, it wasn't a good job. And we both knew that. It was never enough. I could never compare to my dad.
The youngest of five children, my father controversially said he had a stable life growing up. In his years of elementary school, he recalls that he never really had enough to eat and was forced to sleep and study on an empty stomach.
When he was sixteen, my father came to America with my grandmother. His uncle sponsored the flight and my father was immediately sent to a nearby school and offered a job in a restaurant. In desperate need of money, he and my grandmother both worked there.
"It was just a regular schedule for me: wake up at six, go to school and come home at three, and head off to work at the restaurant until eleven (usually without a break). Then I would go home to do homework and study. “In school, he was put in English as a Second Language classes and had trouble communicating with others. He studied tirelessly in school and found a love for history and writing. My father transcended his classmates and was admired. Due to his busy schedule, he never found time to make friends or socialize. In his senior year, he graduated with little friends and quit his job at the restaurant to move on to college.
My father accepted a full scholarship to grad school, to earn both his bachelor’s and master’s degrees. He lived in dorms, leaving my grandmother to work back home. Eventually, he even taught freshman and junior year in grad school, until his mentor had unfortunately moved away.


Long story short, my father had a long line of successes thanks to his dedication for a brighter future for his family. I was born to happily married parents, a roof over my head, and food on the table. I could not ask for more, for my father taught me to: “work to your highest extent and enjoy the promising rewards.”


So no, I will never live up to my father, and no, I will never be able to compare to him. But, I will continue to work hard and wait for the rewards that lie at the end. Who would’ve thought he could end up here?


As a little girl, my father used to tell me that the biggest reward he’s gotten was his perfect life-that everything turned out just fine. When I go out and do something amazing someday, my father will be proud of me. Maybe just as much as I am about him.