MY FATHER wakes me up, "Bon, let's go."
I open my eyes, like it's the most natural thing to do. I'm a light sleeper. "What time is it?" I ask.
"Around four," he says, looking at his phone.
"Give me five minutes."
And he leaves the room, takes my dark brown leather shoes that I've worn during the most important occasions of my life, and polishes them. I don't have a shoe brush, but he makes do with a clean rag wrapped around his left hand like a sling.
It is often the mundane that remind me of how big a sacrifice my parents have gone through to put me through med school. Oh, I thank You, Lord, for them. And I thank You most of all.