Wednesday, March 6, 2013

I was nine.

"I never... I never fully believed my dad was dead. I thought I was normal, like all the other girls in town-- I thought my dad was one of the numerous dads living in the US. That's what I told myself. I thought I just wouldn't see him because he could never make enough money to visit us, unlike all the other dads who would drop by once or twice a year to see their family.
"I remember when Mom finally purchased our house... and I stood in the empty living room. I walked to every corner and did the same thing-- I thought 'If only my dad could be here. Dad... please... come back. Right now. And see all this. See how pretty OUR house is. See how happy we are. Please show up, Dad.' Then, I remember closing my eyes, and seeing him... I saw him SO vividly, in this pale-blue shirt... his wavy hair parted on the side. He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. We just looked at each other... then he cracked a smile.
"Mom walked in and called my name. 'Gloria, what are you doing? Are you... ok?' she asked. 'I saw him. I saw my dad. He was wearing a pale-blue shirt, and his hair was curly, parted to the side,' I told her. 'Did he say anything?' Mom asked. 'He's dead. I always felt he was dead... but when he smiled... I knew he was dead. My dad's dead, Mom,' I said. Mom hugged me, 'You're right, honey. I'm sorry.'
I stopped being a kid that day. I grew up. I was nine."

I've never been a fan of Gloria... that woman is one of the biggest offenders when it comes to giving me backhanded compliments... she's the ruling champion.
Tonight, she shared this story with my mom, aunt, and me.

This is why it's so impossible for me to hate people.
That story crushed my heart... and it wasn't the only story of the night to do so.

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