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My father died when I was five. It was hard
on us all. My brother, who is eight years older than me, began to take care of
my mother and me.
He took on more responsibilities than
expected. I remember he made sure the rubbish was taken out, and the yard was
cleaned. He did on his own, without being told to do so.
Because of my father's death, mom had to
get a full time job. Brother would get me up for school and make me breakfast.
While I was eating, he would lay out my clothes, make my bed, and gather my
school books up.
Hand
in hand we would walk to the bus stop. As we waited, he would play games my
father used to play with me. When we returned from school, we were alone for
about half an hour, until mom was home from work. Before I did my homework, he
would sit me down with three cookies and a glass of milk. Then he would prepare
something for mom to cook dinner.
Mom would greet us with a hug and kiss.
This was our time to have some fun outside. This was my brother's time to be a
kid.
One Saturday in June several years later,
my mother and I were at a store where the Father's Day cards were sold. I
stared at the cards. Mom said," Cindy, I know this is hard time for
you."
"No, mom. That's not it. Why don't they
have Brother's Day cards?"
She smiled," You're right, your
brother has exactly been a father to you. Go ahead to choose a card."
I did so, and on Father's Day, my mother
and I sat my brother down and gave him the card.
As he
read it, I saw the tears in his eyes. Mom said," Son, your father is proud
of you, seeing that he raised a good man, and that you do your best to fill his
shoes. We love you and thank you."
