A Life of Gratitude: Growing Up with Love, Sacrifice, and Joy

I was born into a small but fiercely loving family—my father, my mother, and three children: me, the eldest, and two younger siblings, a brother and a sister. Our home wasn’t big, our pockets weren’t full, but our hearts were rich in love and gratitude.

My father worked tirelessly—early mornings, late nights, often returning home exhausted, his hands calloused from labor. He was the sole breadwinner, juggling jobs to keep food on the table, clothes on our backs, and school supplies in our hands. There were times we went without luxuries—no new shoes, no birthday parties, no vacations—but he never let us feel poor in spirit.

“We may not have much,” he’d say, “but we have each other—and that’s everything.” He’d tell stories of his own childhood, how he walked miles to school barefoot, how hunger was a constant companion. Yet, even then, he carried hope like a torch.

Even now, as an adult, I carry those lessons close.

Yes, we were poor in money. But we were immeasurably rich in with the love of my Grandfather and Grandma what truly matters.

And for that—every single day—I am deeply, endlessly thankful.

Merry Xmas

Erdoğan