inheritance

my father worked long, long hours when i was a child. as ranking officer at two different armories, it was up to him to keep things running. he would come home for about two hours every night to have dinner with us, and then he would return to work until long after i was put to bed. i missed him all the time.

when i was very young, he would fix my hair before school. every cold morning he would put on his red bathrobe and come downstairs early. when i finished dressing i would step into the living room to find him sitting in his recliner, the footrest popped out, waiting for me. that was our time - i don't remember mom or my brothers at all during those moments, just me and dad in front of the fireplace. he would ask me questions about my life while he brushed my long hair and braided it. he could always braid better than mom. i have missed those mornings since they ended, fourteen or fifteen years ago.

as i got older, he was away from home more and more. now that he is gone and my mom feels like she can speak candidly, i know that he frequently worked those hours because he didn't want to be at home. all his stresses, his anger, he would take them out on the four of us. and they could all be traced back to one single thing. he hated that he couldn't give us everything that we wanted, and everything that he wanted for us.

i don't recall wanting for anything.

after a few years, i started finding excuses to stay up late. extra homework, drinks of water. anything to get myself out of bed during the half hour before he came home and went upstairs. at night he would sit in the kitchen, because he wasn't allowed to smoke in the rest of the house. i would lean against the counter while he sat at the table, watching the light of the tv reflect off his skin. those nights were always colored a dark dusty blue. those nights, he spoke of my future in absolutes because he never doubted me for a second. he said when - never if.

from my father, i recieved a desire to know everything that is in the world. a love for languages. a desperate aching desire to learn. from my father, i recieved a need to write everything down, find new ways to describe the things that i saw. from my father, i learned to want to help others. i found an endless quest for perfection.

he used to bring me small presents. every few days or so - "i saw this while i was out this afternoon and i thought, wow, my little girl would really like this." and on my fourteenth birthday he took me shopping and bought me a ring. four months later my mother shook me awake at midnight, the lights of the ambulance flashing around inside my bedroom.

after he died, i learned that happiness is something you sometimes have to fight for. i learned that a good life doesn't just happen to you, but you have to go outside and find it.

something about the weather today made me sad. a certain charge in the air made me want another day with my daddy. instead, i'm left with writing this down as a reminder to myself that i had him once and that i was loved.

from my father, i have recieved a calm sense of self assurance, a blank slate of prejudice, a gold necklace, a love of reading, a completely flat ass, and a belief that i am good and strong. i think i found a reason to stop acting like a child today.