A Story a Day...

Mirror

The playground filled with laughter, the joy of the sun shining down bathing us in its warm glow. Grass as green as emeralds shot up out the ground making a comfy blanket for us to land on, leaves dotted here and there swirling in the soft breeze. Swings creaked their joyful song at being played upon by many happy faces, slides squeaking in approval as we slid down them in fits of giggles. School was over, it was time for us to leave and go home to our families.

I searched for him, I saw him. How my face grew into a smile at the sight of my father, running towards him he picked me up as if I was as light feather and spun me until I could laugh no more. Placing me down onto the ground, his warm hand wrapped around mine; we skipped home that day, conversing about our day and what songs I had sung and books I had read. When home a hug would be waiting for me from my Mother, once out of uniform down stairs I went. Father called me to see if I wanted to make Rice Crispy buns, to which I always answered with a firm "Yes!", once made we would fight about who licked the bowl clean of chocolate to which I would always without a doubt win.

Once dinner was done it would be upstairs ready for bed, every night was the same. He had to read me a story before bed otherwise I just couldn't sleep, once finished a kiss would be placed onto my head and a good night would be said. How I adored my Father with every once of my being, we were closer then closer, as thick as thieves some would say.

But how different it was in reality...

Gazing away from the mirror I knew it would never be like that... He wasn't there to make me smile, he wasn't there to pick me up from school, he wasn't there to read bedtime stories. He was just never there...

It hurt me, some say "that a daughters first love is her father" how wrong they were. He was never there, he never cared, he didn't want me he said so himself. How he hurt me and my mother. Torturing our minds, hurt us physically, what kind of father throws his daughter across the room in anger or slaps his wife?

That's not how a father should be, the man in the mirror that was how a father was meant to be.

A father cared, he did not,

A father loved, he did not,

A father stuck around, he did not.

And now he's gone...

_