A small (big) gesture from my Father

After I got married, visits to my family often meant long drives across the countryside, with hours on the road and only the radio and conversation to keep us company. Every time we packed up to head home, my dad, who never had much money to spare, would find a quiet moment with me. He’d press a folded bill into my hand, sometimes ten dollars, sometimes a hundred, and say with a small, almost shy smile, “Something to help you get home.”

It was never about the amount. It was about the gesture, the way he quietly made sure we had a little extra for gas or a warm meal along the way. Those simple moments stayed with me long after the money was spent, a small and steady reminder that love often speaks loudest in quiet, ordinary ways.