“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The box. The account. Everything.”
He shrugged.
I asked him the same question I had asked before.
“You didn’t have to do any of that. So why did you?”
For once, he had no joke.
He looked down at the sink for a moment.
Then he gave the simplest answer imaginable.
“You’re my kid.”
That was all.
No expensive gift.
No dramatic speech.
No attempt to prove he was better than anyone.
Just three words from a man who had already spent nearly two years proving them through his actions.
A month later, Ray finally bought himself new work boots.
The college account continued growing.
Slowly.
Eventually, instead of writing down what he had sacrificed, Ray began leaving different notes on the statements.
*Passed chemistry somehow — $50.*
