My father died when I was five. My brother, who is eight years (old) than me, began to take my father's place to look me.
Because of my father's (die), my mother had to get a full-time job. My brother took on more responsibilities than what was expected for (he). He got up early and woke me up for school every morning.
While I (eat) breakfast, he would lay out my clothes make my bed. As we waited for the school bus, he would play games my father used to play with me. He did his best (make) me happy, and he succeeded every time.
It was a Saturday in June some years later. MY mother and I were at the store. The sellers were selling Father's Day cards. I stared at the cards. My mum said. "Honey, I know this is hard time for you." I said, "No, Mum. That's not it. don't they sell Brother's Day cards?" She smiled and said, "You're right. Your brother has (certain) been a father to you. Go ahead and pick out a card for your brother."
So I did, and on Father's Day, my mother and I made my brother sit down and gave him the card. As he read it, I saw tears in his eyes.
