I was around nine when I woke up and found my father sitting alone in the kitchen crying. He quickly wiped his face and told me his eyes were irritated from dust. The next morning everything was normal, and the incident was never mentioned again.

I later learned that his business had nearly collapsed that year. He worked his way out of it somehow. I'm 28 now, and whenever he lectures me about being strong, part of me remembers that kitchen. I don't think less of him for crying. If anything, that is one of my strongest memories of him as a human being rather than just "Dad."