I always hated my father because he was a motorcycle mechanic, not a doctor or lawyer…
Growing up, I was ashamed of my father’s job. While my friends’ parents were doctors and businessmen, my dad worked in a garage, fixing motorcycles with grease-covered hands and worn-out clothes. It felt like a constant reminder that we were different—and not in a good way. I avoided talking about him at school, embarrassed that he didn’t fit into the mold of “success” I saw around me. He missed dinners and school events, always saying, “I’m doing what I love, kid.” But as a child, I couldn’t understand how fixing bikes could bring anyone joy. I envied the polished lives... Continues…
