Even when she was little, she wouldn’t let him hide from what he was. He couldn’t stand to look at himself, at the wreck of a man he knew he had let himself become.
Her little face, in all its innocence, shining like a mirror, reflected his ugly image back to him, daring him to face it and to do something about it. He would lash out at her, overcoming her with his brutal strength, hating himself all the more.
She represented everything good and beautiful to him, and he loved her. But she never knew it. He would watch her sometimes, crossing the street, on her way to school; her long curls bouncing as she skipped to the other side.
She looked so little, so vulnerable. How could he hurt her as he had done so many times in the past? He felt so guilty, so small – much smaller than this little girl of seven.
He made a silent promise to never hurt her again. But promises are easily broken. And that same day when she responded to a small injustice on his part with a scathing look of unspoken defiance, he lashed out at her once again. And he kept lashing out at her until the day he died.
July 17, 2007 at 5:42 pm
This one ‘Daddy’s Love’ was difficult to read. Not because of the writing – but because of the content.
N.
August 26, 2007 at 11:28 am
Painful for everyone involved in living it, too. Thank you for your comment.