My Father: No Ordinary Man

My father is a big fan of Mark Twain. Especially he has some introductions of Twain that he likes to recite, especially because he likes to recite it around me. I was surprised how old the old man learned in the last seven years. He is an encyclopedia of walking, an encyclopedia that I consult everyday. But he is an underestimate person.

My father does not like talking. He thinks he is an atheist. I am convinced that he wants to believe, but he can not find the way to God. My father is a very smart person, but he has experienced poverty, lack of father, and support before the war. After the war he was tempted by socialist thought. With such ideals, it is difficult to find a place for God. My father died suddenly at the age of 19. The funeral is secular. I am not very interested in God. I am praying, but of course I have nothing to do with him. I am dreaming of "religion" in my mind. I go to church with my parents on Sunday. He is not. But this has nothing to do with the conviction they are converting. I just want to make it stand out from the crowd. This dream has not been realized, so I will not consider it anymore.

My father, my hero. I admire my father because he is an avid person. Not only his family but also the entire community. He is known for his good deeds. My father is a man of God who spreads the word of the Lord. He is not only my hero, but a lot of people there. I admire him mainly because he has the courage. Yes, is it me? Mine, I do not even remember seeing him at the end. Maybe one year ago, it was not so early, probably six or seven years ago. Again, this is not too close, perhaps 10 or 12 years. What!

In 1977, my father was an ice cream shop in the neighbor I was just 13 years old, I decided to make it: I can refuse my father's occupation - by weight and weight You should work and drink cold beer at the end of a tough day. Alternatively, I accept his occupation, I regard it as an old and sublime calling, and can bring joy to hundreds of children at the end of every weekend. When I was young, the son of an ice cream shop only went up. On the weekend my friends gather in his track and staring at me. Because I give them the fruit companions and rockets of them. They come home and let us open the huge coffin-sized freezer we store in the garage. I will lift the heavy cover and release the cold air, they stare inside to fill their favorite carton box.