I Am My Father’s Daughter
I am my father’s daughter: fishing poles and baseball bats, glasses and mud-stained cleats, and a matching birthmark in the center of my right palm.
All posts tagged: father-daughter relationships
Tuesday Night Hockey
I have always known two versions of my father: #1- Pleated pants belted just under the stomach scar from his motorcycle accident as a teenager, polo shirt tucked in, hair wet in an attempt to slick it back, glasses. #2 – Corona tank top, some form of cartoon character pants with an assortment of holes and/or paint splatters, white grass-stained Nikes, baseball cap.
Thoughts After Doing Yardwork
There is a complex pull of emotions when a woman is faced with yard work. I realized this standing to my father’s left, a giant pile of red outdoor rock on the driveway in front of us.
What I’ve Learned From My Father’s Tears
It breaks me to watch my father cry. Men crying has a way of making me feel tender, making me feel just as vulnerable and afraid. But watching him, I can not associate crying with weakness. He cries because he is strong; because he is so strong that only some things can break him. Broken, yet not weak.