As a daughter, an only daughter, an elder of a young brother, I was the apple of my father's eye. As a baby, I had my own tumbles with babe-ality. My eyes were always a problem. After surgery at a young age, I went on with life with the same desire I had, 8 years ago. From what I was told, I had my own brush with what you would call 'imaginary' or 'fraudulent'. I look back on it as something I overcame without doing much at all.
My parents were put together through their own fairy tale story, which I'll never get tired of hearing, but as a child, you're privy to majority of the good things in your parents life. They shield you from the bad, the unwanted. When it comes down to really thinking about it, I know a story, not THE story, of their beginning. And that's beyond me.
As a child, I watched two outwardly beautiful people, arm in arm, celebrity dressed with the fame to follow the classy threads they frequently outed with.
As a child, I would enjoy the countless hours of simply being a child. Lost outside for majority of the day with friends who were on the same exploratory trail I was. We were young, and interested in everything outside had to offer.
Behind closed doors as the years rolled by and I aged into the creature I am now, I saw love turn to resent, to hate. To something that lay dormant now, 30 years later between the pair many came to know and love.
The stories of infidelity whispered but never voiced out loud, and as the low tier on the totem pole, where no one would see ..I heard.
The fights that subsided for whatever the reason.
The constant phone calls.
The callous words.
The dreams that came.
It all affected me so dramatically. more than I wanted to admit it did.
But through it all, I never like it diminish that my father, was still my father. I looked up to him. I respected him. I loved him.
Genetics have been oh, so favorable to them both, and then in turn to us. We don't look our ages. But the body is as old as the body is. It will feel the toll of the years it's passed. My father was always a hard worker, a great provider, a proud man.
Many looked up to him. He was highly praised for all the good he's done, all the time, money and things he'd given so freely. If Karma saw him, she'd cry. He was always a giving man.
But an angry man.
My brother is now the splitting image of his personality, ten fold. It has to be his way or no way at all. They're leaders, not followers. Commanding and demanding. Stubborn and pigheaded.
Aggressive and masculine.
But I'm not here to harp on my Dad.
I'm beginning to face the fact that despite his always being there for me, strong, supportive, immortal in my eyes, he isn't.
When I was called to get him from work,every pain I hear that he says he has or his inability to do something. makes me realize that one day, hopefully not a day soon, that I may lose him. And that's a reality all too hard for me to deal with.
Being in this country for as long as we have, and for the years he's worked as hard as he has, they've never had health are benefits. Why? Spent a long time working under the table or health insurance was almost the entire paycheck. Unattainable.
He's always been a man of manual labor. Not an office type. An early riser. A go getter.
Always on time. Always ready and prepared.
With all the crap I deal with on a daily basis in my own life, I can't face the sound of hearing I am in for more loss. Not yet.
I can't lose my Superman to his Kryptonite.
No comments:
Post a Comment