As a child, I had always looked to my father as a hero. To me, he was strong enough to take on an army one handed, tall enough to reach for the moon and give it to me, and wise enough to know everything about everything. There was nothing my father could not do. He took time to teach me to read, write, walk, and talk. When learning how to walk, like any child I would occasionally fall. My father would pick me up and put me back on my feet. He always encouraged me to “get up and try it again.” I felt no doubt in his eyes; he made me believe that I can accomplish anything that I set my mind to. In my rebellious early teenage years I saw that my father did not know everything like I previously thought.