Memories Of My Father : The Father Of The Father

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Puerto Rico where my family and I were taking a vacation that spring. As I lay on my dad’s colorful bed in the small pink villa on the water, I find it hard to enjoy the view that comes from the balcony and the salty smell of the light blue ocean. The villa resides on a rocky cliff where the rippling ocean waves smash onto the rocks below. The waves, which usually relax me, are insignificant. I see colorful houses that run along the water for miles just like ours. In the corner of my eye I see the infinity pool that looks out onto the crystal clear water. Something else is on my mind. Something not even the alluring scenery could take my mind off of-death. One month earlier, I lost my mom to a vicious disease called cancer. Its evilness left my family and I broken and sick at heart. When I look back now to that vacation, I think nothing other than sadness and mourning. Maybe it was too soon to take a vacation, I thought. My dad walks into his room and sits next to me on his bed.

One event that defined a part of my life that involved literacy was when I had to write a

A phenomenal, strong, and intelligent woman. I introduce myself in such ways because I am a daddyless daughter, however being a daddy-less daughter does not define who I am. It does not take away the hard work, and achievements I have encountered in my 20 years of living.

When I think back to the time when I was little, as sad as it sounds, I can’t remember my father’s face clearly. I cannot remember what he looked like, or how young he was. When I think back to the time when I was little, I cannot remember much memories. I cannot seem to remember much happy memories with him. When I think back to the time I was little, I cannot remember of what I would do with my father. I cannot seem to remember how I spent my days with him. My father’s name is Jeoung-Woo Seo. He was born in Gwangmyeong, Gyeonggi-do, South Korea and he was born on April 6, 1969. My father is currently forty-eight years old. He is 5’6 with salt and pepper hair. He wears glasses and has a little sour expression as his resting face.

Dads are the most underappreciated when it comes to parenthood. Usually when someone talk about their childhood the talk about how much their mother did for them and often neglect the thing their daddy has done. I can remember my dad doing so many memorable thing in my life. My father made sure that he set and achieve goals in order to be a great dad.

The 13th century marked the beginning of an era that would shape the course of history; it was an era of exploration and expansion to an extent that had never been seen before. The explorations that define this period are the famous travels of Ibn Battuta, Marco Polo, and Christopher Columbus. These explorers are remembered today because of their achievements, and the comprehensive notes that they took on the places they visited. These journals reveal not only the worlds of the people they visited, but also gave us a glimpse into their own. These journals illustrate that all of the authors were influenced by religion, and economic interests. However, even though they shared these same influences, due to their different circumstances they have different objectives and aspirations; all of which reflect a new global interest in exploration and expansion.

This move thrusts me into a whirlwind of uncertainty; my dad was my hero and now, I do not know what to think. I knew of my father as a giving man. He dedicated so much of his time and resources to help those less fortunate and unfortunately, it was at the peril of his family.

My mom sometimes refers to me as her husband. I became her husband after she and my dad separated at the age of eight; I remember my mom crying in my lap. As a child, it’s difficult to picture your parent crying in your lap instead of the other way around. We were in her bedroom, laundry piled in the corner - a first in my usually neat and orderly household. The door was locked to keep my younger siblings, two sisters and one brother, from coming in because you have to put on a good face. This was my introduction to being my mom’s husband.

The man that I admire more than anyone else is my dad, Bryan J. McCormick. My dad has a love for his family like nobody I’ve ever met before. My dad is my shoulder to lean on. My father is a self-made man, with the strongest willpower of anyone I have ever met. He has taught me what it means to be a hard worker and the value of a dollar. But most importantly, my dad is a man of God. Respect is a very important thing and my father is the man who taught me what it feels like to not be respected and that no matter what I should always treat everyone I meet with respect.

William Shakespeare once said, “When a father gives to a son, both laugh; when a son gives to a father, both cry.” Fathers are a symbol to not only me but the rest of the world, whether good or bad. They make us who we are today, and give us the tools we need to succeed in life. Around November of 2015 there was a lot of talk on the news about ISIS, and the destruction they were causing in the middle east. They were taking control of different countries, and beheading thousands of Christians. My family and I are Christians and during that time there was a lot of fear for the country and for the people that were Christians in the middle east. Each night felt like someone had been beheaded by a member of ISIS and the news was horrific. I began to ponder a what was going in my life and who could I ask for some advice. I asked my dad one night “ Why does God allow terrible things to happen to good-hearted people, and allows violence to occur ” He then replied saying, “This world is filled with angry people and sin, when you put those two things together it causes destruction. God doesn’t let those people just die for nothing he has a plan for each and every one of us, and a time when we leave this world.” When my father told me this I understood perfectly, this advice led me to reflect and remember that God’s in control. This gave me hope that even though the world is dark I can still be a light. My dad has been a big part of my life and has made me

My Father grew up with four siblings’ in Oaxaca Mexico. My father’s life when he was in High School, Marcelino Eighteen, Pedro Fifteen, Regina Fifth teen, Theodore Eleven. My father’s family comes from French Mexican ancestry. My Grandmother was Mexican, and grandfather was French both of my grandparents were taught to be Roman Catholic Church. Which was introduced to my father, and uncle’s. My father was thought to speak Spanish as his primary language, Spanish has their primary language they learned this language to my father and his siblings. My father was educated under The roman Catholic Church was the dominating religion in the town of Oaxaca during the time my father was in High school, this religion was passed on by our ancestors.

While packing a suitcase in my room with the door closed, an envelope was slipped under the door into my room.

The hardest time in a person's life is often following the death of a close family member. Death is hard, losing someone you love and see on a daily basis causes great grief and sorrow. For me that special person I lost was my Dad. My father died when I was twelve and it was no doubt the hardest time of my life. Our relationship was indescribable I was his little buddy and we went absolutely everywhere together, and when he died it was like he just disappeared from my life forever. As a young boy you really do not know how to react to such a terrible situation. Neil Ibrahim a father of four dies young and it's just you and your brother left to carry the family name. Throughout the grieving process one learns who really cares about his or hers well being and the upbringing of their children without a father, losing your father makes you more responsible and a more humble person because you are all they left behind.

As I stood there, on the beach, glancing at the ocean in awe of the beautiful sight, a sudden gust of wind blew past me. Each individual strand of my hair crossed my face, the sun played peek-a-boo as it made its appearance just above the horizon, as if it were too scared to show its’ beautiful light. The smell of the sea filled my nose as I took in the fresh air. The sand was filled with corals, with a collection of many sea shells, all of which had their own uniqueness in shape, size and color; however, the sand felt like a bed full of soft comforters. The way the ice-cold water moved the sand and flowed onto my feet and between my toes, made my heart race. It was as soft and delicate as a newborn; the tiny grains of sand were so fine that it could not possibly be seen without a microscope. The waves sounded as if they were singing a soothing song to me, causing me to look back on all of my past memories and drawing me closer to them. They were inviting me in with their eternal arms, but my feet could not listen because the frigid waves penetrated my feet. It was as if I were stuck. My feet were planted, my feet would not move. It was as if they were frozen to the ground and could not possibly take a step, therefore, I sat down, watching the sun rise higher and higher, lighting up the beautiful morning sky.

Every young boy's dream is to grow up and be just like his dad. This was no different for me during my childhood. As I grew up, I was always watching my dad; observing what he was doing and how. He always seemed to know what to do in any situation that would arise. Whether it was fixing the lawn mower, doing some construction to the house, or just something as simple as day to day conversation. My father is the person responsible for making me who I am today. He taught me to be empathetic, compassionate, strong-willed, motivated and most importantly loving.