To my father:
He was a thin, medium sized ma with a voice so soft you could hardly hear him. He dressed modestly but always wore a hat. He was just an ordinary guy, but to me he was a hero. He was my role model, my teacher, my cheerleader, my confidante. When he died and we brought his things home from the hospital, I asked for his hat. It hangs now on a hatrack in my living room, a symbol of my dad.
To my son:
He, too, is a quiet man but he has been a wonderful son to me and a loving father to his daughter. Like my dad, he is a hero who has worked hard, triumphed over setbacks and made me proud every day.
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