text: I wish we spent more time together. I have a faint memory of us playing catch with that bouncy red ball. Even then, you were in a rush to leave. Why couldn’t we be like other families? When you were off work, you’d wash your car and I would get to clean the rims. Every time I was sitting in the back of my friend’s car, his dad would be driving, and I wondered why it was not you. They say there's 24 hours in a day and even then, I only get you for two. At times, I felt like I’ve only seen you in the evening. And even when you got home, you looked too tired to play, too tired to acknowledge me, too tired to be bothered. You bought me new shoes. Shoes that are now worn from walking to school, walking from school, running home, and running away. I wanted to play sports, but I know you’d never come to see me so I didn’t even try. You constantly told me an education is important, but you never taught me anything. You told me what I had to do, but never showed me how. I see you’re getting older, I can hear it in your voice. I witness the way you move and how age really is more than just a number. I feel like I’ll never be the son you wanted. I hope you forgive me. I wish we spent more time together. I was in line to buy some lunch, but got this bouncy red ball instead. I thought that it was bouncy enough for it to jump back so you can have something when I am not around. You loved it and it was worth getting scolded for being late to work. Sometimes I see other families, and I wish we had what they have. You’re old enough to help me wash the car. The rims are low to the ground, so you wouldn’t need to climb a ladder or chair, and it requires a lot of attention to detail, something I need you to learn in life. Sometimes I wish I could leave this place. Working here consumes me...but it is the only way for me to make sure you can live comfortably. I would trade it all to just pick you up from school someday. The hour I see you before school and the hour when I get home make all the hours of work worth it. You’re outgrowing me. I get home from work and you’re never excited anymore. I guess you’re learning to live without your old man. I hide my sorrow behind my sighs. I try to buy you anything you need. With the little we have, I spend it all on you. I don’t understand these trends, but I want you to have the best. I wish you shared more about what you’re involved in, I don’t know how to support you now. I wish I knew more about education. All I know is that you need it, so you don’t have to live like me. I see you getting older. I can hear it in your voice. You’re washing your own car now, working your own jobs, and taking care of yourself. I know I’ll never be the father you wanted. I hope you can forgive me. I wish we spent more time together.