Poem On My Father My Hero Novels & Stories

I asked curiously. “ And then my father would scoop in saving me. He was my hero, my knight in shining armour.” He chuckled, then continued, “he was always saving me from my mom's tantrums, but when she died, the mighty saviour became a victim of his depression.” “ He became devastated, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep just staring at my mom's picture and that's how I watched my knight die. While looking at my father's grave, I understood what that word meant,” he looked at me with so much pain and a lingering hatred that scared me to witts.

He deserves to be happy. My father is a great person.

Doubt creeps into my mind, questioning whether I am truly capable of fulfilling this monumental task. In the quiet moments, when the weight of my responsibility becomes too much to bear, I find solace in my father's words. He reminds me that heroes are not born, but rather forged through adversity. He tells me stories of great warriors who faced insurmountable odds and emerged victorious, their unwavering determination and belief in their cause propelling them forward.

I forced myself to focus on what my father was saying as he pointed at me and I stepped forward. He looked at his watch and a huge smile formed on his handsome face. My dad was always such a handsome man. When I was little, I asked him if he could find me a mate that was just like him. My father was kind and loving, but strong and very protective. He was my hero. I wanted a mate that was just like him.

“I –“ my father begins, leaning forward, but I don’t let him get far, rising to my feet to glare around the room. “This man is a hero in this war,” I snap, pointing at Jackson. “This man saved me and killed your enemy with his teeth in his neck! And this is how you show your gratitude!?” I sneer at my father, and at Roger, knowing that they’re the ones who wrote the rules.

After this, I'll call them and ask them to come down. "You have always been there for me," I say softly. “You taught me how to ride a bike, how to stand up for myself, and how to be kind. You’ve been my hero, Dad.” I say, my throat tightening with emotion. “You’re an amazing father.” Dad’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Thank you, son,” he says, his voice choked with emotion. “It means a lot to hear that.” He continues, and I smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “We’ll get through this, Dad. Together.” I reassure him, and we hug once more before I get up, letting him have the rest he deserves. But I only take one step before turning back to him, realizing I have no idea what he wants t

I grip the edges tightly, trying to steady myself. “Thank you all for being here today,” I begin, my voice trembling. “My father was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. He taught me the value of kindness, hard work, and integrity. He was my hero, my guide, and my greatest supporter.” I pause, struggling to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. Lola places a reassuring hand on my back, and I draw strength from his touch. “Dad loved Beethoven,” I continue, my voice breaking. “He always said that music had a way of expressing what words couldn’t. I hope this music today brings some peace to all of us, as it did for him.”

What had my father done? I backed away, slowly retreating to the couch. My legs barely carried me, my thoughts loud, wild, spinning out of control. Was this the reason? Was this why Adrian treated me like trash? I slowly made my way back to the couch. What did he do? What did my father do? I sank into the cushions, curling into myself. The tears I’d been holding back slipped free, trailing down my cheeks. He was my safe place, my hero. My father had always been the gentlest soul. The most selfless man I’d ever known. He was the reason I knew what love looked like—what kindness sounded like.

He's my hero, Mom. She nods, dabbing at my tears with her fingers. "Well, my mate is my hero too." She says and we both laugh. "Your father stood behind me like a rock so I can be able to use my powers without having to watch my back, you know." I nod proudly "That's my father! I'm the luckiest girl on earth." "Aren't we both lucky to be blessed with good men?" "Yes, we are, mom. Yes, we are."

My hero. I snap back to the present, the weight of the memory pressing down on me. “I thought he saved me once,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I thought he was my hero.” My father’s expression doesn’t change. “And now?” I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. “And now, I don’t know.” I remember the day I came to my father’s office years ago, brimming with confidence. I had been so sure of myself, so sure of Knoxx.