Challenge #05: Father's Day
He didn’t like Father’s Day. He understood how ridiculous that sounded coming from a father, but Father’s Day was a day meant for appreciation of good fathers and that was something that he just wasn’t.
It hadn’t always been that way, of course. At first, he’d been a doting father, afraid to let others hold his baby girl out of fear they’d drop her. Somewhere along, though, he’d lost sight of what was important. He’d become neglectful and distant; daughters were not something to which he was accustomed and they both appalled and frightened him with their array of emotions and girlish interests to which he could not relate. Ultimately, they’d grown into separate lives, only conversing on holidays and other needed occasions. While they’d grown up to be beautiful and successful women, the life of selfish crime he had chosen only created a deeper wedge in their relationship.
His daughters, however, appeared unfazed by the circumstances. Perhaps, because they did not have another father with which to compare to, they believed this was how all fathers and daughters interacted. They doted on him every year as if he were the World’s Greatest Father recipient, even though he knew no respecting corporation would afford him such an honor. Every year without fail, they traveled the 100 miles to visit him in the state penitentiary, where he was to spend the rest of their lives, baring gifts, smiles, and new family photos.
Though it was torturous for him to pretend he deserved their love and admiration, he smiled, too, and gratefully took the photographs in an effort to not disappoint them further. No one had to know that when he returned to his cell, he stashed away the reminder of the life he was no longer a part of under his bed and never looked at them again.
It hadn’t always been that way, of course. At first, he’d been a doting father, afraid to let others hold his baby girl out of fear they’d drop her. Somewhere along, though, he’d lost sight of what was important. He’d become neglectful and distant; daughters were not something to which he was accustomed and they both appalled and frightened him with their array of emotions and girlish interests to which he could not relate. Ultimately, they’d grown into separate lives, only conversing on holidays and other needed occasions. While they’d grown up to be beautiful and successful women, the life of selfish crime he had chosen only created a deeper wedge in their relationship.
His daughters, however, appeared unfazed by the circumstances. Perhaps, because they did not have another father with which to compare to, they believed this was how all fathers and daughters interacted. They doted on him every year as if he were the World’s Greatest Father recipient, even though he knew no respecting corporation would afford him such an honor. Every year without fail, they traveled the 100 miles to visit him in the state penitentiary, where he was to spend the rest of their lives, baring gifts, smiles, and new family photos.
Though it was torturous for him to pretend he deserved their love and admiration, he smiled, too, and gratefully took the photographs in an effort to not disappoint them further. No one had to know that when he returned to his cell, he stashed away the reminder of the life he was no longer a part of under his bed and never looked at them again.