Story of Dad

The dim table lamp illuminated the yellow wall above my desk. I fidgeted restlessly, checking the watch on my wrist; my dad gave it to me just before I left for the United States. I imagined the teeth of each microscopic gear turning as the mainspring wound tighter. Tick-tock, tick-tock. I was so focused on the time that I barely heard the traffic outside my window.

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Every night for five years, I counted down the minutes until 12 EST, when the minute and hour hands joined together. At this exact moment, I tapped my dad’s WeChat icon to start a video chat. He always answered the phone in under three rings. These calls were always the highlight of our day; I saved up my best stories, so they could brighten his afternoon like a meteor shower.

Even though there was an ocean between us, my dad was my biggest cheerleader. He encouraged me through every triumph and defeat. I’ll never forget his smile when I announced that I was elected to be the only female driver on FIRST Tech Challenge team, and then was chosen for the core team in FIRST Robotics Competition. After my first big competition, not even 13 hours of jet lag could stop me from calling my dad. “Our team qualified for the quarterfinals!” I shouted. My dad leapt into the air with a cheer. I told him about how thousands of us danced to “Sweet Caroline,” our shoulders touching as we waved flashlights in the air.

It didn’t matter if I was a girl in a male-dominated field, or a high school student trying to make a difference; my dad believed I could do anything. One day, I heard about how China’s Humen Pearl River Bridge was unstable due to strong, gale-force winds. The bridge was on the verge of collapse, posing a risk to many peoples’ lives. “I want to help,” I told my dad, “But I don’t know how.” As I listened to his heartfelt love and support, I felt my back straighten in determination. That same night I started a research paper about the bridge, which I submitted to the S.-T. Yao High School Science Award competition. When I was awarded a U.S. regional medal, my dad held a party from his living room.

I felt so safe knowing that my dad was just a phone call away. He always looked at me with so much love, like I was his crowning achievement. With his serene outlook and infectious optimism, it was easy to forget that he’d spent the past ten years battling brain cancer. I never thought those trans-Atlantic video calls would end.

But one day, the phone rang three times, then four. My dad didn’t answer. I tried again, thinking it must be some kind of mistake. But my mom was the one who finally picked up the phone. Her face was red from crying. My dad had lost his ability to talk, she said. Over the next few days he swung in and out of consciousness. I felt a pain so strong, it was like I’d been stabbed. “Should I come home?” I sobbed as I saw his hospital bed through my phone screen. “I can come on the next flight.” In a rare moment of lucidity, my dad opened his eyes and smiled with the same warmth and serenity I’d seen a million times before. His message was clear: he believed in me, and he wanted me to keep going.

These days, I don’t count down the hours until our next phone call. But I still wear my dad’s watch on my wrist. He never left me. His blood and DNA flow through me; I sense him in the sun on my face and in the air I breathe. He’s still my biggest cheerleader. With him by my side, I know I can do anything.