Novel & Cerita Poem On My Father My Hero

But the happiest of all is my father, who rises from his seat and immediately walks over to wrap me in his arms. Dad always gives the best hugs, but this is different. I feel the way he trembles, holding me so tightly like he’s afraid to let go. My father is the bravest, most wonderful man in the world. I look up to him. He’s always been my hero, and I want to make him proud. And that’s why it breaks my heart to see him so visibly disturbed. He says nothing because he frankly doesn’t have to. If I thought I was scared, I can’t imagine the turmoil he and the rest of my family must have gone through. “My pride and joy,” he murmurs. “Welcome home.”

My father's love had changed me, had redeemed me, and had set me free. "I love you, Father," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I love you too, my child," he replied, his voice filled with tears. "More than words can say." And in that moment, I knew that I was home, and that I would never be alone again. My father's love would always be with me, guiding me, supporting me, and cherishing me, no matter what lay ahead.

Just poorly disguised loneliness? I took a long shower. Very long. The water ran down my body and seemed to carry away some of the doubts with it. There was still mud tangled in my hair, traces of the night in the countryside, mosquito bites marking my skin like tiny tattoos of memory. But I didn’t complain. How could I? I was in love with my father. And that was as absurd as it was real. In love with an imperfect man, but one who, suddenly, embodied all the traits I once imagined for a childhood hero—protective, charismatic, the owner of a secret world all his own, and who welcomed me without demanding anything in return.

She was right after all, my parents had teached me from a very young age that if you want to have a hero to get help from then look into the mirror because one day everyone will leave. My father is a dreamer who nonetheless doesn't let his coping mechanism consume him. My mother on the other hand is down to earth and not the type to talk a lot in comparison to my father but to this day, she stills repeats the same thing everyday "We suffer more in imagination than in reality"

Or those moments when my father would walk into my bedroom after he returned from business travels and tucked me in even though I was way past the age of being tucked in. All of them felt fake. They made my blood run cold, they made me only resent him more because he was my father, my hero. I thought when he carried me on his broad and comfortable shoulders, that he would carry me forever…through anything. It hurts more than I could put into words that the only way I can express that pain is with the tears that flow down my face like a waterfall and the squeeze of my heart as I ask “Why?” Why couldn’t he save me as he saved Jessalyn?

How ironical it was that I wanted to discuss this matter with my father who was more concerned about his hollow image which would end soon after he dies. The time makes people forget about someone who isn’t a hero and my father hadn’t achieved something as great as legends to be remembered forever. He was a successful businessman who also made mistakes. “Shall I drive you back to your home, Sir?” The driver asked me. “No, take me to my beach house.” I said and closed my eyes to give rest to my tired mind.

Refusing saying, someone may need something at the last minute and we would be the ones to the rescue. “Well, there could have been.” Scolded my father, forever the optimist. My father was the sweetest man and loved me fiercely. I was the only child my parents were blessed with. My mother has always doted on me and my father has always been a superhero. Chasing away the dark skies, he was my protector. “Okay Pappa, it won’t happen again.” I promised and it wouldn’t if I could just figure out what is going on. This was very unlike me and I needed to pull my shit together.

"Is that what you feel?... You can stop and leave behind the people of your own country alone. Reject what heaven has given you." "My father, you are the only ones who believe that I am a messenger of heaven just because of the light of heaven given in vain when I was born by Mother. I live forced to be like what you want me to be." "You became a brave warrior and a hero—" “Warrior… And your son who is engaged in an unusual battle may be the reason for my not coming back home… These hands are already stained with the black blood of the monsters I have slain— but with my violence they are stained with red blood." I can't stop feeling bad for my father, because I'm too tired to live with his e

“Based on everything I know about you. I don't think there is a thing you could have done to stop your father.” “Because I'm weak,” I said, jerking my chin away and looking to the other side. I didn't want to see that understanding, sympathy filled face anymore. But Hero’s hand darted out and turned my head again so I was looking at him. But this time, there was anger in his face. “You are not weak,” he growled. “You are one of the strongest, and most capable people I know. You have done a lot of things on the mountain that my trained wolf couldn't even do. Don't let one asshole make you think any differently.”

“Yes, I wronged you! But that was because for nineteen years, I thought you were the Jasper family’s child! “But you know it too. If I’d known you were my real son, I would’ve loved you with everything I had. Look at how I treated Victor. Don’t you understand? I truly love my son! “Ray, I don’t care what name you use now or who you call family. My blood still runs through your veins. Sooner or later, you’ll have to accept that I’m your real father.” Then he raised his voice and shouted at the students around us. “Everyone, look at him! Ray Lincoln refuses to acknowledge the father who raised him for nineteen years. Instead, he calls some outsider Dad!” His voice was so loud that students on