My dad was completely paralyzed when I was three years old and my mom abandoned us and left. My dad recovered by his own strong will to be able to walk and talk that people could understand. The auto parts factory he worked for had closed down, and he used his previous skills to work as a janitor for a small factory, drawing drawings and repairing simple machinery, earning $300 a month to pay for my education. When I was in high school, I went out to tutor at night, and every night he slowly dragged a sick leg from home and came to pick me up from class with a flashlight. He waited for me in front of the school in his janitor's clothes - big rubber shoes, a very old cap, a sweater with threads showing, and blue workman's pants. Out of the blue I said to him one day, "Dad, could you dress a little better? I feel so ashamed." The next night, it was raining, and he was standing in front of the school waiting for me in his only suit. I went home at night and cried all night.