My earliest memory of Dad was grabbing his hand while we walked together. As I grew1I remembered my father and I listened to basketball games on the radio. I always fell asleep2the game was over. When I woke up in the morning, the score sheet with the3score on it would be lying 4me.
On cold mornings my father would bring his bread truck by the house. I used to ride on the floor of that bread truck5he delivered the bread to the stores. The6and the warmth from the bread made my mouth water and kept me warm.
My father would7all my games. One night before an important game my father told me8that he wouldn't be able to watch the game because he had to deliver the bread and it was a three-hour9from his route. The next day as the game time approached, I thought about my dad. I happened to look across the field and10saw his bread truck pulling into the stadium. He managed to11it to the game.
Years later I became a teacher. I'd never forget the voice on the phone early one morning telling me Dad had just been 12in a traffic accident. I could hear my heart13in my ears. I14the phone and went back to my bedroom. After that, nothing really15to me. I still taught in school16I couldn't focus on my teaching. One day, I was on the playground when a little boy walked up to me and17my hand. His hand held mine the same way I used to hold my father's by the last two18.At that moment I found my 19in life again. You see even though my father was gone, he left something with me. He left me his smile, compassion and touch. My purpose was to use those20as he did. From that day on I started.
