Shame on me for thinking you carried shame with you. Now, I am ashamed for bringing shame upon the thought of you, bent over, back in pain, shins so bloated from the water that remains. Quarters for tips, ingratitude crossing their lips, out, and into the air. Fierce, their stare. They’re impatient, and to them, the fault is yours.

Shame on me for thinking you didn’t know you did what you had to do. Cruel was I to believe you were ashamed, too. I stripped you of your dignity, every tear I cried for you--the memory of handling their luggage, I could sue them for any humiliation they brought to you. No, I was never ashamed of you. But I didn’t know...neither were you.

Shame on me for not believing in you, in your strength, in your dignity, in your ability to overlook all the bad around you, and recognize and thrive upon that which was good. Shame on me for not realizing you had been in this place before. You weren’t accepting defeat. They couldn’t take anything from you anymore.

Why didn’t I see it? Why do my eyes still cry? Thinking of you, a baggage handler. A skycap. You were an angel in disguise. I shamed you by thinking you took shame in what you did. For shame, for shame, I am to blame, burdening myself with an image, a label--for those times, I forgot your name.

I cluttered up your memory. I mourned over your ankles, swollen up every day, after a graveyard shift you had been thankful to have...a job...any job. And I dared to rob you of that source of pride--no matter how little its profits.

I’m sorry, dad. I’ve failed you. I complained of your demotion until my face turned blue. I’ve been so angry and built up so much hate. I resent whomever assigned you to that fate. A successful business gone south, I’m sure some can relate. And I’ve cursed those two men who stabbed you in the back and took your deal. Your trusting heart is something they could never understand or feel.

And though you lost that mansion you built in the hills of Palos Verdes Estates, it will hold no candle to the one in which you now stay.

I forgot how high you held your head. How could I forget you moved with grace and with purpose. Forget all those schmucks who hold little importance. Who won’t ever know the true value of life. Or that love will never come at a price. So no matter how little, or much that you make, you are deeply loved...and love you cannot take.

I will carry on your legacy, be it a crown or a chef’s hat I wear on my head. I will not hold shame in my heart, it’ll only turn me dead. I’ll remember your beauty in every smile with us you graced. I won’t let them take the good memories of you away from me, and cloud them with sorrow and pain.

Lastly, shame on me for seeing an act of misfortune, and not recognizing the act of pure love. That’s what drove you on, daddy, wasn’t it? Love. Screw the money, the fancy suits, the shiny cars. You had love. You HAVE love. And even though you were sick, you would keep working for that love til the day you died. Yes, dad, I did cry. I do cry. But it hurts a little less knowing you knew you had a purpose. You knew where it was all headed. You knew God’s plan was falling into place. You would love us til the day that you died. And you showed us this, your ankles were swollen with pride. I will not be shamed. I will not let you be shamed.

You wear a halo now, glowing and beaming with love. Badge of honor, you need not. Your halo says it all.