arrassed　to　be　seen　with　my　father。　He　was　severely　crippled1　and　very　short；　and　when　we　would　walk　together；　his　hand　on　my　arm　for　balance；　people　would　stare。　I　would　inwardly　squirm　at　the　unwanted　attention。　If　he　ever　noticed　or　was　bothered；　he　never　let　on。

善心可依（2）

It　was　difficult　to　coordinate　our　steps—his　halting；　mine　impatient—and　because　of　that；　we　didn’t　say　much　as　we　went　along。　But　as　we　started　out；　he　always　said；　“You　set　the　pace。　I　will　try　to　adjust　to　you。”

Our　usual　walk　was　to　or　from　the　subway；　which　was　how　he　got　to　work。　He　went　to　work　sick；　and　despite　nasty　weather。　He　almost　never　missed　a　day；　and　would　make　it　to　the　office　even　if　others　could　not。　A　matter　of　pride。

When　snow　or　ice　was　on　the　ground；　it　was　impossible　for　him　to　walk；　even　with　help。　At　such　times　my　sisters　or　I　would　pull　him　through　the　streets　of　Brooklyn；　NY；　on　a　child’s　sleigh　to　the　subway　entrance。　Once　there；　he　would　cling　to　the　handrail　until　he　reached　the　lower　steps　that　the　warmer　tunnel　air　kept　ice…free。　In　Manhattan　the　subway　station　was　the　basement　of　his　office　building；　and　he　would　not　have　to　go　outside　again　until　we　met　him　in　Brooklyn；　on　his　way　home。

When　I　think　of　it　now；　I　marvel　at　how　much　courage　it　must　have　taken　for　a　grown　man　to　subject　himself　to　such　indignity2　and　stress。　And　at　how　he　did　it—without　bitterness　or　plaint。

He　never　talked　about　himself　as　an　object　of　pity；　nor　di