Tonight, I remembered something my father once taught me — without saying a word.
After a long day at work, my mom served dinner and placed a piece of toast in front of my dad… completely burnt.
As a child, I froze, waiting to see if he’d react.
But he didn’t.
He took the toast, smiled at my mom, asked me about my day at school, and calmly ate it — butter, jam, and all — as if it were the finest slice in the world.
Later that night, I overheard my mom apologize for the burnt toast.
My father replied with his usual warmth:
“Don’t worry. I like my toast a little extra crispy sometimes.”
That moment stayed with me. Not because of the toast, but because of what came after.
Before bed, I asked him quietly, “Dad… did you really like it?”
He hugged me and said something I’ll never forget:
“Son, your mom had a hard day. A burnt piece of toast doesn’t hurt anyone. But harsh words could.”
And then he added,
“Life isn’t perfect. People aren’t perfect. What matters most is kindness. Learning to accept the small mistakes, and loving others through their imperfect moments — that’s what keeps love alive.”
Before I left the room, he kissed my forehead and said:
“Happiness isn’t a straight road. It has curves called mistakes, traffic lights we call friends, and warning signs known as family. And when it gets hard, just remember: Carry a spare tire called determination, an engine named love, insurance called faith, a full tank of patience…and the best driver of all: God.”
