Yesterday, at home, I watched with my boyfriend the
documentary: He named Malala. It is about a brilliant, determinate, and brave
girl from Afghanistan.
Malala and I have something in common and are not about been
brilliant and brave. We both love school and our dad.
When I was a child, I
used to wait for him up to late, and I loved to run to his arms to
get a hug. Sometimes, he used to pick me up at school. That was special like
getting a lift in a limousine.
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At that time, we didn't talk much, he was quiet and
reserved. He always worked hard, so picking me up was not always possible, and
when it happened I felt on the top of the world, my dad was having a time for
me.
As a child I didn't work, it might seem obvious for you, but if you don't know, it is not a reality
that applies to all countries in the world.
Anyway, I didn't have money. However, it didn't stop me to find ways
to give him gifts. That was my way to thank him
for picking me up at school, working hard, respecting my mom, my siblings and me.
Everything was a feasible gift for him. Once was a piece of
mirror, a broken mirror more precisely. I tried to break its edges in an
attempt to transform it into a square
shape. Unfortunately, the piece of mirror got worse. But I was eager to give
him that because my dad uses to take care his mustache. While I was trying to
fix that mirror, I already imagined him using
my "new" mini mirror to shave his mustache.
Honestly, remembering now, that was an awful gift, that
broken mirror was ugly and dangerous, but the most important happened: my dad
loved it. He said: Waw! I have a new mirror. How do you know that I needed this!
I was on the top of the world again;-)
