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Daughters failing relationship with her father.
When you are a child, a father’s love is one of the most precious gifts. He is someone you look up to, someone you feel safe with, someone you hold dear to your heart. Fathers are the ones that take you to the park and push you endlessly on the swing till you can’t go any higher. Your father is the one who looks at you as If you’re the one great light in his life. He makes you laugh with his fantastic stories until your rolling around on the floor. He reads to you and sits by your bed to watch fall Into a peaceful sleep.
This Is what I always wanted my father to be, but he never could, he never had the chance. Its unusual the way things change when your father leaves the house you all once shared. The smell of his aftershave soon fades and there are no whiskers left In the bathroom sink In the morning. The sound of his snore you once found a comfort Is replaced by your mothers constant whimpering. The house becomes empty, cold and silent. All I can hear is my mother weeping; I cover my head with my Dona and block out that saddening repetitive tune.
After a few weeks of uncomfortable silences between my mother and I she sourly informs me that it’s my father’s week. My heart sinks and I slowly march to my room to gather my things. Another miserable parent to deal with, another week of bad take away food and meaningless conversation. I walk into his house. The look on his face is distasteful as usual; before I look at him I know I’ve done something wrong. He lowers his eyebrows, his piercing brown eyes burn holes in my skin, and while I look into them I see only a reflection of myself.
I eel anger, resentment and confusion. Not the way you should feel around your own father. I don’t feel welcome, or even accepted. I sit uncomfortably in the oversized armchair, my feet hardly touch the ground and I can feel the carpet brushing over my toes. He gazes into my tired eyes, and he asks me why I am acting this way. What way? I think, there is no normal way to act! Another home broken, IM alone with my emotions. “l really thought you were stronger than this,” he says. The fury builds; I can feel my face turning a crimson color while my pulse quickens.
Stronger he says! That word running through my head, how can I be strong when my family Is falling apart? I have so many things I want to say to him, I yearn so much to tell him how much need him, to tell him how I feel. For a split second I feel Like I can tell him everything. Then I remember who I am talking to and I remember that If I try to speak to him about anything, It will be Like talking to a brick wall. Authority figure not father figure, he never has any compassion. I reply with a comment, which hopefully doesn’t get me Into any trouble.
Im not you” I say, not angrily but bitterly. He gives me a look of disappointment. This continues for months, I become a messenger between a bitter mother and insensitive father. I come home from school and I lay on my bed motionless, for hours He comes in and asks brutally “what is wrong with you? ” he doesn’t question me but demands answers from me. “Nothing” I reply, my voice can’t sustain a steady tone. I push my face into my pillow and tears start welling in my eyes. I can’t let him see. He stands in my window his shadow blocking out the strong afternoon sun.
He stares. “Im sorry” he mutters under his breath. “What? ” I ask in disbelief, did my father Just say sorry? I slowly raise my head from the pillow and look at his old worn-out complexion. He smiles at me and strokes my face. I look up and stare at him. “I love you,” he says, he lowers his face towards me and kisses me on the forehead. I feel a rush of contentment, happiness and Joy for the first time in months. ” I know” I reply and as I look into my fathers big brown eyes I know what he is feeling. And for that moment we understand each other.