I used to tell people my immigrant dad was “too old to learn” English. I thought I was being realistic. When I moved out at eighteen, I stopped visiting, assuming he didn’t care.
Eight months later, I went to get a document and found him in the kitchen, quietly learning English from a YouTube video, his notebook filled with careful practice.
He looked up and said simply, “I want to be better… maybe a better grandfather someday.”
No guilt, no blame—just determination. Now I visit twice a month. We drink tea, practice words, and slowly, the distance between us is shrinking.