I Never Heard My Father Say “I Love You” to My Mother

(I originally wrote this back in June 2005, but I think this is a good time to show it again.)



I’ll tell you about my father:

He is a quiet man, too shy for his own good.
Too shy to say out loud what he’s thinking inside.
Too shy to complain, to call attention to himself.
Too shy that he will quietly add the extra buck when settling the dinner tab so the waiter doesn’t get stiffed.
Too shy that he sometimes smiles awkwardly instead of speaking.

And I’ve never heard him say “I Love You” to my mother.

Instead, he will bring his family to America.
Instead, he will work three jobs.
Instead, he won't drink, or raise his voice, or raise his hand.
Instead, he won't join the other husbands when they make fun of their wives when they’re not listening.
Instead, he will put the bigger pieces of chicken on my and my mother’s plates during dinner. Instead, he will pretend that he’s already eaten.
Instead, he will never want a gift during Christmas so everyone else can get a better gift.

And he will be too shy to want to read this poem
but he already knows that I am capable of writing it.
Because I am his son, and he has taught me well.

He taught me that endurance is stronger than force.
He taught me that achievement is stronger than amazement.
He taught me that humility and silence is the best surprise of all.
He taught me all of this without saying a word.

And I’ve never heard him say “I Love You” to my mother.
He never had to.