I was an angel to my parents when I was born, but because of a recessive gene, I was not like other normal children. I was so wrinkled that the midwife could only deliver me into my mother's womb. As for my father, not wanting my mother to know, he had to bathe me himself, wrap me in a warm towel, and feed me formula. But after only one night, my mother saw me.

My mother's extreme grief for me made her faint again and again. Then she lost her milk. My father isolated us to help her regain her spirit. I was a month old, and still hadn't changed at all since I was born. My father saw that I was eating and sleeping normally, so he encouraged my mother: "You were born with a hard life, so let's spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, okay?" Looking at her husband struggling every day, suppressing his grief, my mother "nodded" in agreement...

My father used to be a good teacher. He loved his job and was always dedicated to the cause of educating people. But since I was born, his life took a different turn. He gave up the podium, his dreams and ambitions to stay home and take care of me. He let my mother go to work and also to support the family.

I never went to school. When I was 6 years old, listening to my friends in the neighborhood chanting and playing after school, I could only cry. As if understanding my wishes, my father said he wanted to teach me. For a normal child, spelling is difficult, but for me it was a thousand times more difficult, because at 6 years old I could only say "uh, eh".

The days of hard work that my father and I had to put in to make me speak started from then on. Because of my birth, the words I uttered through my throat were blocked, stuck in the difficult "uh, eh" sounds. That made me feel helpless with myself. I was discouraged and gave up countless times. At those times, my father encouraged and comforted me: "Take it easy, son. I know you will do it. My son is very good!". I looked at my father, his eyes seemed to have hundreds of twinkling stars lighting up my dream. After a year of trying and persevering, I was able to say "dad". It was difficult for outsiders to hear the word "dad", but my father considered it a miracle and he hugged me and cried.

I learned to spell and to write. The mental training was not difficult for me. I learned quite quickly. But the physical training was really terrible. My hands could not hold a pen. My father put the pen on my hand, then held my hand and guided me carefully. After writing one or two strokes, my father stopped and massaged my hand because it was aching. It was not until I was 9 years old that I could write my first letter.

From a person who could only lie in one place, my father taught me to sit, then stand. He installed a corridor with handrails in the house for me to practice walking. I can never forget the feeling of pain piercing my bones when I fumbled for my first steps. Tears kept flowing, sweat poured down my face. My father walked behind me, holding my body so I wouldn't fall. I cried, he was also in pain and helpless, his face was contorted as if thousands of arrows were piercing his body. Yet my father still encouraged me: "I believe you can do it!"

At the age of 25, I started using the computer my father bought me as a coming-of-age gift. He encouraged me to write down what I thought. He instilled in me the belief in myself, helping me realize that even though I couldn’t go to school, even though I was disabled, I could still live a meaningful life, a life worth living.

As the years passed, I wrote simple stories about my father and posted them on my personal page. One day, I received information about a writing contest for people with disabilities. I decided to participate, with the desire to express my love and gratitude to my father. I put all my heart into the article, telling about my life, about the difficulties, the efforts, about my father's boundless love, about the lessons he taught me, about the noble sacrifice of a teacher, a father.

On the day the results were announced, when I heard my name called as the winner, I hugged my father and we sobbed together. My father whispered: "I knew you could do it. My son is the best!". My father's eyes were shining with pride and happiness - I knew my life had meaning.

After that, events with inspirational messages of living positively, believing in oneself, in the miracle called “Father” took me to many different regions. I contributed to stirring up the embers to become a flame of enthusiasm in young people with disabilities, helping them have the motivation to live, the motivation to change their fate.

I have had a meaningful life. And if I had one wish, I wish all disabled people would have a father like mine!