What is the central idea of this text. I am a successful woman with a Master’s degree in English and a Master’s in Education, but my father cannot read in english. I am a teacher at Claremont International High School teaching writing, but my father cannot write. This might not seem to make sense, but my father’s life was not the same as my own.
Fifty years ago, When my father arrived in New York from Italy, he could not speak any english. His teachers in the American schools put him in classes for students with mental disabilities. He was not mentally disabled, he just could not speak english. Many students at the school bullied him and made fun of the way he spoke. He would tell me stories about students stealing his lunch money or books and how he would get in trouble from the teacher or principal for not being prepared for class. No one listened to him and made him feel valued in school. It didn’t take long before he dropped out and started working to build his own landscaping business. While he is successful now, he still faces difficulties because he is unable to read or write very well in english. He relies on me and my mother to help him write things for him and I know he still feels embarrassed by it sometimes.
I can still remember being a child, waiting patiently at the window for my father to return from work. He would always leave at 6am and would not return until after 6pm. I would hug him and laugh at the leaves or sticks stuck in his hair, and in the winter, he would have little silver snowflakes in his mustache during days of snow removal. His hands are always hard and worn from the years of manual labor, working so tirelessly to make people’s houses look beautiful on the outside. Most of my friends had fathers who worked in big skyscrapers in Manhattan. Their fathers would come home in their fancy suits and cars, totally clean and professional. My dad was the complete opposite, arriving home in his big blue pick-up truck, sometimes covered in dirt, always smelling like fresh cut grass and gasoline. I didn’t care about this because I loved the way he respected and worked with nature. He taught me a lot about what is important in life and I have become an adult who loves to be outside, surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers, and a friend to all animals.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how different my father’s life was to mine, and how lucky I am to have him. I did not do anything to deserve the life he has given me, but his dedication gave me a childhood that allowed me to focus on my education; something he never was able to do. Even though he didn’t get the chance to finish school because of unfair circumstances, he always made sure that me and my sisters took our education very seriously and he never gave up on us.
My father has taught me so much, and one of the most important lessons is that we do not get to decide the circumstances we are born into, but we do get to decide what we do with the time we have on earth. He made a choice to work extremely hard everyday, even after so many people gave up on him, because he never gave up on himself and the future he wanted. He has taught me that life can be very cruel, but it does not mean we have to be cruel too. I wish I could go back in time and be the teacher he needed when he was younger, but instead I will be the teacher he needed to every student I meet and I will never make him feel bad for needing help with reading or writing..
My father’s story has impacted my life and made me the person I am today because now I am a teacher who is dedicated to seeing my students succeed. It does not matter to me who they are or where they came from. Their language skills do not stop me from trying my hardest to help them learn. When I see them struggle, I think of my father and how no teacher took the time or had the patience to help or encourage him. My father is my inspiration and my students are my focus. His lessons will stay with me forever.