The Brighter Side of Things

I was always so jealous of our neighbors since I was young.

They were so innocent, so happy.

The sound of the kids's excited shrieks, and giggles could be heard across the whole block, which was strange for a small neighborhood like ours on the outskirts of New York. I could always hear their laughter; it never seemed to stop, even when the sun had already begun to fall behind the blooming trees.

Their dad was how I imagined every dad should be.

I always found him patiently waiting for the school bus every afternoon on his wrap around porch with an excited smile on his tan face as if he was more excited to see his kids than they were to see him. But every day they would get off the school bus, and go barreling up the drive to go running straight into his open arms with ear piercing shrieks. He would hug each and every single one of them and I found myself growing bitter with every embrace as I marched up my own drive, my fidgety brother skipping alongside me.

I found myself detesting a man for loving his kids because my dad didn't have the courage to love his own.