My Father

She grew up imagining hat her father would be like. He would be kind, careful, loving, caring. He would have hair like chocolate, eyes that were like grass, shining in the dew. He would help her up when she fell in the yard. He would always, always be there for her.

After she felt like she had grown up the prince like image of a caring farther was added with someone who could help her with her homework. Someone who could take her on holidays.

When she felt like her life was at the bottom most pit in Tartarus her thoughts of her father turned dark. He was an abusive man who never paid any attention to her except when he had his hand at her throat or swiping across her face. He smelled horrid and yelled with a strange lisp.

When she met a kind man she imagined a father who could embarrass her and look after her if something went wrong with her new relationship.

When that relationship ended she wanted nothing more than a father who would hold her tight and dry her tears. She then wondered if he would be disappointed in her because she had failed in her relationship and didn't have a stable job or life style.

The night before she would appear at church she wanted a father who would cry as she wrapped her hand around his arm and they would walk down the aisle together.

When she found out she was pregnant she imagined a father who would stare at her in disbelief then shout with joy at having a grandchild to spoil.

When she was old she hadn't gotten her father, but she liked it like that. She got to experience every type of father she created in her head. And she liked that.