As a parent, seeing your child graduate from high school or college is one of the most memorable events in your life.
People who have been through it will remember the pride and unbridled joy that come from seeing your not-so-little one finish a part of their life they worked so hard to complete.
Dennis Roach, a dad from Texas, must have felt ten times better in 2018 because his daughter’s high school graduation gave him the chance to take a picture from 2000 all over again, and the result made people all over the world smile…
Dennis finished high school in 2000, and he was lucky to have his toddler daughter Tori with him for the party.
At the time, they posed for a picture, and Dennis kissed his little girl. It was the right way to remember his big day.
In 2018, Tori Roach was the one who marked the occasion of her high school graduation.
Dennis was, of course, there to celebrate the occasion, and he and the other person had the great idea to take a new picture of the two of them from eighteen years ago.
In the new story, Tori lay in her dad’s arms and got a kiss on the face again.
People on Twitter loved the pictures she posted of the pictures from 2000 and 2018. No one could have predicted how well it would be received.
“18 years later,” Tori wrote under her picture. It quickly went global, getting 57,000 reposts and almost 150,000 likеs.
In the comments section, many people were happy to see the picture.
“Ugh this is just the sweetest,” one person wrote.
Another added: “One of the best pictures I have seen … I wish you and your family the best of luck.”
“Wow lovely…” a third said.
But the feature that a lot of people saw and couldn’t help but comment on was probably the most interesting thing about the two pictures.
One thing that stood out was that Tori’s dad, Dennis, didn’t look likе he had aged at all between the two pictures.
“How old is your father,” mused one person. “He looks ageless.”
“I think you froze your father until you grow up,” another joked.
“Damn did you dad age any?” a third quipped.
Tori couldn’t believe how many people were interested in her post.
She later had to explain that her dad, who was 37 years old when she graduated from high school, wasn’t single.
She also talked to People about Dennis’s pride.
“I woke up and I had a ton of notifications. People had started sharing and liking and commenting all over again. My dad was really proud. We’re from a small town, so nothing likе this really ever happens. And he was likе, ‘That’s so cool!’”
She added, “It brought me and my dad closer in a way because we could shаrе that moment, and I feel that not many other people get to experience that.”
She inquired, “What’s the price for the eggs?” The elderly seller responded, “0.25 cents per egg
The old egg seller, his eyes weary and hands trembIing, continued to sell his eggs at a loss. Each day, he watched the sun rise over the same cracked pavement, hoping for a miracle. But the world was indifferent. His small shop, once bustling with life, now echoed emptiness.
The townspeople hurried past him, their footsteps muffled by their own worries. They no longer stopped to chat or inquire about the weather. The old man’s heart sank as he counted the remaining eggs in his baskets. Six left. Just six. The same number that the woman had purchased weeks ago.
He remembered her vividly—the woman with the determined eyes and the crisp dollar bill. She had bargained with him, driving a hard bargain for those six eggs. “$1.25 or I will leave,” she had said, her voice firm. He had agreed, even though it was less than his asking price. Desperation had cIouded his judgment.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The old seller kept his promise, selling those six eggs for $1.25 each time. He watched the seasons change—the leaves turning from green to gold, then falling to the ground like forgotten dreams. His fingers traced the grooves on the wooden crate, worn smooth by years of use.
One bitter morning, he woke to find frost cIinging to the windowpane. The chill seeped through the cracks, settling in his bones. He brewed a weak cup of tea, the steam rising like memories. As he sat on the same wooden crate, he realized that he could no longer afford to keep his small shop open.
The townspeople had moved on, their lives intertwined with busier streets and brighter lights. The old man packed up his remaining eggs, their fragile shells cradled in his weathered hands. He whispered a silent farewell to the empty shop, its walls bearing witness to countless stories—the laughter of children, the haggling of customers, and the quiet moments when he had counted his blessings.
Outside, the world was gray—a canvas waiting for a final stroke. He walked the familiar path, the weight of those six eggs heavier than ever. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement. He reached the edge of town, where the road met the horizon.
And there, under the vast expanse of sky, he made his decision. With tears in his eyes, he gently placed the eggs on the ground. One by one, he cracked them open, releasing their golden yoIks. The wind carried their essence away, a bittersweet offering to the universe.
The old egg seller stood there, his heart as fragile as the shells he had broken. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. And in that quiet moment, he whispered a prayer—for the woman who had bargained with him, for the townspeople who had forgotten, and for himself.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he turned away from the empty road. His footsteps faded, leaving behind a trail of memories. And somewhere, in the vastness of the universe, six golden yolks danced—a silent requiem for a forgotten dream.
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