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How Deep a Father’s Love

Many people asked me how I got my name. After all, Lucian's an awfully rare name by any standards. Dad gave me this name. Trust me, if it were my choice, Lucian would be the farthest thing in my mind. It's not even found in many books of baby-names. A push-cart selling those vanity name-plates in San Francisco once offered to custom-make me one because they advertised "we'll have your name here or its free".
Dad named me after a Ceylonese lay-preacher. Uncle Lucian's still with us today, even though his health isn't what it used to be. Dad still drives down to the hospital every evening to massage Uncle Lucian's legs. It helps with the blood circulation and it wasn't long before people started calling Dad "Uncle Lucian's oxygen tank".
We took Uncle Lucian out to dinner yesterday. Dad and I drove him back to the hospital, and Dad took time to change his clothes, as well as empty his urine-bag and stuff like that. Things that would normally make you wince, even just a little.
Maybe he didn't know it, but Dad set an example for me yesterday night. His example gave me the resolve to love him to the same degree when age should catch up on him. Many parents talk to their children about filial piety while at the same time talking bad about their own parents. Dad doesn't talk to us about how he wants us to treat him, but now I know how I want to treat him. Not just because he's my father, but because he is who he is.

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