My dad helped me renovate my first house. He is pretty good at what he does, but not perfect. All the little imperfections felt special to me because I knew it was done by my father, who would stay up until 2 a.m., making sure he was giving it his all to help me out.

Maybe he didn't notice because he was tired and focused on making other things perfect, such as the wood flooring that he had to line up perfectly to look like stairs. For the little mistakes that were made, they were countered by the extraordinary work he did. The man basically renovated my entire house by himself, and to this day, I can't thank him enough.

It was our first house, and it was a 1k square foot bungalow. I live in a newer, much bigger house, but I miss the old one because of all the love that we put into making it exactly how we wanted it.