My Dad...
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My mother said it was the war. It drained him from the inside, leaving him this hollow shell. I always wondered why he never said I love you, or why his arms always hung lifeless when I hugged him. That was the way I knew my father.
He was never one to let people know how he felt. I was the one closest to my father but still felt so distant. I felt comfortable telling him things like when I had a problem with a guy friend or when I needed to vent about a hard day at cheer practice. He always listened, but sometimes he was not too good with solace. I remember a day not too long ago when I sat crying in my room. That day just didn't go right. I sat curled up in the corner of my room when he came through the door. I didn't say anything. I just wiped the tears from my face. I could tell he wanted to tell me something but hesitated when he saw my tears. His eyes traveled from me to the floor. A confused almost helpless look swept over his face�
"Stop your crying" he said. Then he turned and walked away. I began to cry even harder. It hurt to think that he would actually say that without even asking why I was so upset. But that was the way it was at my house, you weren't allowed to do that. And if you did, you'd better not let him see it.
I even remember when I was younger and was so happy when my teacher handed me a report card with straight A's. I ran home to show my mother that day. She pulled me up on her lap and kissed my forehead. She told me how proud she was of me. I felt proud of myself too. When my dad came home, I raced to meet him at the door with my report card in hand. I looked up at him smiling. Taking the paper from my hand he studied it. Raising his eyebrows he handed it back to me. He just nodded his head. I remember feeling my heart drop. It's just not good enough I thought to myself; I'm just not good enough. After that day I never expected anything from my father. I just excepted the way he was and left it at that.
It was a cold day that March. The house was full of relatives and friends but still felt so empty. They had all came that day to say good bye to my grandmother. A time that came all too soon. I walked around the house in a daze. Passing by weeping relatives and old friends who spoke of the good old days, I slowly made my way into the kitchen. I found my father there, sitting at the table. Even though he didn't look up at me, he knew I was there. He seemed different that day. Even more sedate and apathetic than usual. I stood motionless in the doorway. I watched him from where I stood. His head hung heavy on his shoulders, like someone had stolen the life out of him. I wanted to run to him, to crawl up on his lap and cry on his shoulder, and have him tell me that everything was okay. But you couldn't do that with my father; you just knew not to. I could feel the tears pushing at the back of my eyes. I wanted to be closer to my father but he made it so hard. Turning, I walked away.
The grass was so green around the hole that was so deep. I sat staring down at the bottomless pit. My father sat next to me. His eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses and his hands resting gently on his lap. Tears streamed down my soggy cheeks. It was hard for me to be there. I figured it must have been harder on my father. Regardless of how he showed it, he must have been hurting I thought to myself. A person has to feel. You can't just ignore it�so why was he trying so hard. I cried like never before that day. Not only for the loss of my grandmother, but for my father.
As the ceremony came to an end and we began to say a final prayer I felt my father grasp my hand. I gazed up at him and from behind his sunglasses, I saw a tear journey down his cheek. A feeling�an emotion. And I began to understand�he was saying I love you.