When I was 7 years old, my parents sent me to live with my uncle. At that time, he was just over 30, unmarried, and living alone in the city. I didn’t fully understand the reason then, but I knew he had offered to take care of me because he saw how hard my parents were struggling to raise three children. They agreed immediately, and I moved to the city with him.
My uncle was a man of few words, somewhat stern, yet deeply caring. Initially, I was afraid of him—partly because I wasn’t used to him, and partly because of his strict demeanor. But over time, I realized that behind his sternness was a quiet, unwavering care. He took me to school every day, cooked meals, did the laundry, helped me with my studies, and ensured I never lacked anything.
I excelled in school, thanks in large part to his encouragement and support. He never said, “I love you,” but I felt his love in every meal, every ride to school, and every sleepless night he spent by my side when I was sick.
He raised and cared for me every step of the way. (Illustrative image)
Once, I asked him:
“Why don’t you get married?”
He just smiled and replied:
“If I get married, who will take care of you?”
I’ve never forgotten those words. Years later, I realized he had sacrificed his youth, forgoing his own happiness to raise me.
I graduated from university, started working, and eventually earned a stable income. That’s when I began thinking about how to repay him. His life remained unchanged—the same old motorcycle, the same cramped rented room. After much persuasion, he finally agreed to move into an apartment I rented for him.
At 27, I saved up and bought him a used car—a small, affordable one, but it was my first meaningful gift to him. I still remember handing him the keys. He sat silently, nodding, but the next day, I saw him wash the car three times, admiring it endlessly.
I thought it was natural to show gratitude to someone who had raised me. But my younger brother, the youngest in our family, was furious when he found out.
He called me, saying words I’ll never forget:
“You’re so ungrateful! Mom and Dad suffered to raise you, and now you’re giving money to an outsider?”
“Uncle is family. Without him, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
“Mom and Dad gave birth to you and raised you. Uncle’s kindness is appreciated, but you must remember your roots!”
I was speechless. My brother’s words hurt and angered me. He had never lived with my uncle and couldn’t understand the bond and sacrifices we shared. He saw things only through the lens of blood ties, forgetting that family is built on care and shared experiences, not just genetics.
I gifted him the used car when I was 27. (Illustrative image)
I don’t blame my brother. He lived with our parents, saw their struggles, and had his own perspective. But I believe that if he ever understood what I went through with my uncle, he’d think differently.
My parents remained silent. Perhaps they felt a twinge of sadness, but they never criticized me. My mother only said:
“As long as you live with kindness, it’s enough. Whoever loves you, you love back. We don’t need material things—just love each other and don’t let anyone come between you.”
Her words brought tears to my eyes.
Some things in life can’t be measured in money. I gave my uncle a car, not to show off or repay a debt—because how can you ever repay such kindness? I just wanted to tell him: “Uncle, I’ve grown up, and I’ll always remember you as the one who supported me when I was at my weakest.”
As for my parents, I’m forever grateful for giving me life and letting me leave to build a better future. I don’t compare who deserves more gratitude. To me, anyone who loves and sacrifices for me deserves respect.
To outsiders, a material gift might be misunderstood. But to me, it’s a small way to show my heart—something I know my uncle understands better than anyone.
Life can’t please everyone. But as long as you live sincerely and kindly, you’ll have no regrets.
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