He used to say, “It’s me and you, kid. We’re enough.”
And somehow, we were.
When I was old enough to understand what money was, I tried to make things easier. I chased scholarships like my life depended on them, because in a way, it did. I worked weekends, tutored high school kids, built websites for local businesses, sold old electronics online—anything to lighten his load.
By the time I got to college, I had this stubborn, burning need to build something of my own. I saw how many talented young people had ideas but no guidance, no connections, no one willing to take them seriously. So I started building a platform that matched young creators with experienced mentors and small-scale investors.
At first, it was just me, a laptop, and bad coffee.
Then a few people signed up.
Then more.
Then suddenly, investors were calling me.
Then one morning, I was sitting under studio lights while a cheerful host on a business segment said my name like it mattered.
My dad watched that interview standing up in our living room, arms folded, pretending he wasn’t emotional. But when the camera zoomed in on my face and they called me “one of the most promising young founders in the city,” I heard him let out this shaky breath from behind me.
