A Father’s Love

Rain was falling outside as Dad loaded up the truck with trash on a Sunday morning. After he finished he came inside and asked if I wanted to go to the dump with him. I said yes, grabbed my purple raincoat, and hopped in Dad's beat-up Chevrolet he had owned since his early 20's. I sat and watched the rain drip down the passenger side window as we drove through our town, listening to the local country station on the radio. When we got to the dump, Dad got out and emptied the truck of all the trash bags. After, we stopped at a gas station. I went in with him and he told me to pick out candy for myself and my brother who chose to stay home, then he grabbed a case of beer. Once we had gotten everything, we went to the counter to pay. Dad wanted to pay in cash but didn't have enough money to buy everything. I looked up at him, ready to take the candy and put it back. But Dad, without thinking, told the clerk to "keep the beer". We left the gas station and on the way home all I could feel was the love my dad had for me.

At seven years old, this event showed me the seemingly small ways in which people love. My dad loves me enough to want to run errands with me, even if I can't help or if there is little to no conversation. He loves me enough to want to spend his extra money on candy for my family rather than on himself. My dad taught me that love isn't wrapped up in giant moments, or the number of times someone says, "I love you". Love is in small gestures hidden in plain sight.