09/11/2025
“What’s that?”
“A jacket… for you.”
“But I wanted a bike!”
I still remember that day.
I yelled, threw the jacket on the floor, and ran to my room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.
Dad didn’t say anything.
He just picked up the jacket, folded it carefully, and walked away.
I was ten, and I thought love meant getting what I wanted.
I thought if I didn’t get the bike, it meant I wasn’t loved enough.
It took me twenty years to understand how wrong I was.
One cold afternoon, I was looking through old photos and found one.
Dad, wearing the same old shirt he always did, smiling.
And me, warm and happy, wearing that very jacket I once hated.
That’s when it hit me.
He didn’t give me what I wanted that day.
He gave me what I needed.
He kept me warm, even if it meant being cold himself.
He showed love not with money or words, but with quiet sacrifice.
Now that he’s gone, it’s not the bike I never got that hurts.
It’s the hug I never gave.
The “thank you” I never said.
The way I judged his love by the price of a gift instead of the heart behind it.
Because real love doesn’t always come wrapped in boxes or ribbons.
Sometimes it’s a worn-out jacket,
a silent gesture,
a warmth you don’t recognize
until the person who gave it is gone.
Author ✍️  unknown
👌🪢🐝🐝👌
