My father


My father had given me so much, in so many ways, and at this moment I also wanted to give something that I had to him. How about the 100-meter gold medal? It was the highest achievement that I got in my athletic. It is also the one thing I could give him to represent all the good things we did together, all the positive things that had happened to me because of him.

I had never before taken any of my medals out of the bank vault where I usually kept them. But that day, on the way to the airport, I stopped at the bank to get the medal, and carefully I put it in the pocket of my suit jacket. I decided to take it to New Jersey, my home – for Dad.

The day of the funeral, when our family was viewing the body for the last time, I pulled out the medal and respectfully placed in my father’s hand. My mother asked me if I was sure I wanted to bury the medal, and I was. It would be my father’s as I was going to be with him forever. “But I’m going to get another one,” I told my mother. Turning to my father, I said, “Don’t worry. I’m going to get another one.” That was a promise – to myself and to Dad as well. He was lying there so peacefully, his hands resting on his chest in release. When I placed the medal in his hand, it neatly fit perfectly.

Yes, it really belonged to my father from that day on.

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