My Dad's Hands Danqing Zheng

My father is a self-employed street artist. His work begins when he sets up his easel and paper on Fifth Avenue. Throughout the night, he sits patiently and draws portraits for people. No matter the weather, he is out on the streets. With his parents and siblings back in China and a family here to support, he forces himself to get up every day and drag his little dollie into the lonely streets of the bustling city. He operates on a different schedule from most people, sleeping during the day and working at night. Moreover, there are certainly no vacation days or holidays. Rather, the holidays and weekends are his busiest days.

Two thousand and one: My mom and I touchdown in New York City to join my father in the land of opportunities. Leaving my relatives and friends in China, I started from scratch and began my long trek to assimilate into the American culture. Even though my mom aided me in my studies and progress, I lacked a vital component to my growth: The fatherly bond. When I returned from school, my father was always sleeping. The only brief glimpse and interaction I would have with him would be at dinner, where he ate hastily and left for work. When I went to the park on weekends, I often saw kids playing basketball or...