Ever since I was a child, I had always been poor. Every time I came home from school, I would be met with the sight of my father busying himself in the kitchen. From my earliest recollection, I would always remember my father wearing his old factory uniforms in the house. His hair was snow-white and he had very dark skin. He would usually smoke cheap cigarettes and the car he drove around was a Santana which was a real wreck. Despite all our hardships, my father threw himself into his work for 18 years and raised me to his best abilities, and I ended up not disappointing him as I managed to get into a very good university. Because I came from poverty, I had to work a part-time job in order to pay the high tuition fees. I knew my classmates must’ve looked down on me because I was so poor, but I did my best to not let that bother me. On the day of my 18th birthday, my father announced that he was going to give me a birthday present and that he would bring it to me in person. That day I saw my father in a new light. My father’s coarse snow-white head had turned shiny black. He had replaced his tattered clothes with expensive Givenchy suits, and he even wore a Patek Philippe watch around his wrist. The old Santana was now a limited edition Rolls Royce.