“He was a hardworking man, but he was someone who shouldn't have been a father.”

I still remember when my dad told me this. He was telling me about his own father, reflecting on the times he spent with him during his childhood. His father was a hard-worker – a Korean immigrant – handling multiple jobs to provide for his family. He didn't believe in spending money for gifts, new clothes or anything else that was deemed “non-essential.” He was a man who didn’t really know how to be a father to the fullest extent.

Ever since my dad shared this with me, I’ve always had this thought: I hope that when I become a father (don’t worry everybody, I’m not a father yet, not until I’m married), my child(ren) will never think that I was someone who shouldn’t have been a father. For me, that sounds like a failure of a parent.

Luckily for me, I will never have to worry about saying something like that about my own father.

My dad has constantly demonstrated to me what it means to be a determined worker, a loving husband and an understanding father. Simply put, he has shown and continues to show me what it means to be a real man.

From the day I was born until the day I started college, my dad always chose to work the night shift at his workplace. That meant starting work at 11 p.m. and not returning home until about 9 a.m. or 10 a.m. the next day. He would then take a nap until about 4 p.m., around the time I would be arriving home from school. He chose that night shift so he could squeeze as much time as possible out of the day to spend with me. It was a rough time-frame to work – almost always extremely busy for him not withstanding the difficult hours to be working. But he chose that for me.

With my mother being mentally ill, he could have taken the easy road out and just gotten a divorce; it certainly would've made his life less stressful and more enjoyable. Yet, he chose to stay; one reason being because he wanted me to have some semblance of a family dynamic growing up and another being because it was the right thing to do. My mom did nothing wrong, she just became afflicted with a mental disease out of her control. He shows her a love unlike anything I’ve ever seen from anyone else before, giving me a perfect example of what it means to love somebody.

Being an only child and having a mother who is mentally ill meant I was usually isolated at home. My grandparents would interact with me as much as possible, but with the language barrier, it was difficult. Knowing this, my dad did everything possible to help me not be alone. He played as many roles as possible in my life: he was father, mother and brother to me. He talked and played with me as much as he could. Whenever I wanted to have a hangout with friends, he always tried his best to let me so I could have those interactions with other people, even if that meant he got to spend less time with me.

I could write twenty more articles trying to articulate everything my father has done for me in my life and it wouldn't even scratch the surface of what an incredible person he is.

I don't want to be a better father than my dad; I can only hope to one day be as great a father as he has been to me.