I remember after he would tuck me in, I would fold my little brown hands, look out at the bun and ask the creator to make our lives 'better'.
I was tired of all the chaos.
Tired of all the nites spent looking out the cold window wondering where they were.
Wondering if he was ok. Wondering if my mom found him.
Trying to soothe my brothers with their gibbling questions.
Watching the men in my family fist fight.
Listening to the women cry as they tried to make things work out.
Every nite I did my ritual.
I don't think that I ever really knew what I wanted-but I knew it would be different.
I didn't understand, 'normal'-but I wanted it.
I wanted more than anything to not have a dad who came home with black eyes or ran off with his check.
When I was real little we had a garden with corn.
We would go out there to shake the corn pollen when it was time.
I am sure that at some point I realized that I couldn't wish any longer for a better or different dad.
That no matter what I hoped for and how many times I wished on shooting stars-I couldn't change my family.
Someone once told me that when the creator asked my family what girl they wanted-they choose me.
And you know, I think they did. I am sure I picked them too.
As a teen when I tried to give up on god I ran away from my father.
He found me at the water tower sitting there listening to crickets dragging a stick in the sand.
He tried to console me, but all I could smell was the liquor on his breath.
I told him, in anger, that I didn't believe in god-because I knew he prayed and didn't want my prayers heard by any god who listened to him.
I hurt him badly & I could see the tears well up in his brown eyes.
He told me that no matter what I did-he always prayed for me and to never forget that-because the creator wouldn't forget about me.
I don't think I've been forgotten--but sometimes I forget to pray for my dad.
I'm sorry.
posted by Danna Saunders @ 4/20/2004 11:21:00 PM
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