“I have never once described what I do for a career to my children. It was never my aim to make them feel embarrassed of themselves because of me. I would always reluctantly respond to my youngest daughter’s inquiry about my occupation by stating that I was a laborer.

I would clean up in the public facilities before I went home every day so they wouldn’t know what I was doing all day. They wouldn’t be able to tell that I was working because of what I did. I felt it was vital to further the education of my daughters by enrolling them in school. I wanted them to carry themselves with dignity around other people. I never wanted someone to view them with less respect than I was treated because of who I was.

People always made me feel ashamed. Every single one of my earnings went toward paying for my daughter’s college tuition. I decide to use the money to buy books for them instead of buying a new shirt with it. I just requested that in exchange for our relationship, they gain my respect. I once had a housekeeping job.

I was unable to come up with the funds for my daughter’s application costs the day before the college application deadline. I couldn’t work that day, I couldn’t. I made a determined attempt to contain my tears as I sat down next to the garbage bin. Everyone in the office was looking at me, but no one came over to strike up a discussion. I had failed, and it made me miserable. I had no idea how I would respond to my daughter when she confronted me about the admission price when I got home. My family makes a meager living. I used to think that a person with a low salary could never experience good luck.

All of the cleaners approached me when the shift was finished, sat down next to me, and questioned whether or not I considered them to be brothers. Before I could even reply, they handed over their daily wages in a hurry. They confronted me when I tried to decline everyone, saying that even though they would be happy to skip lunch today if necessary, their daughter had to go to college. I was at a loss for words. I didn’t take a shower that day; instead, I changed into my cleaning clothes and returned home.

My oldest child’s university studies are about to come to an end. Three of them are now refusing to let me leave for work. The other three of my daughters pay for their own education, while my oldest daughter has a part-time job. The person that drives me to work the majority of the time is my oldest daughter.

She not only feeds me, but also every single one of my coworkers. They make fun of her and remark on how often she feeds them. “Pray for me that I can feed you all, every day,” my daughter urged them, “because all of you starved for me that day so that I could become what I am today.” To put it another way, they starved for her to become the person she is now. I don’t feel like a poor man anymore. How could someone with children like that be in poverty? – Idris