sitting on his big, comfy recliner. I bought him that one day when he was eyeing it at Ikea. He said I didn’t have to, but when I came home with it he was thrilled. Now he couldn’t part with the thing.
I kicked the door shut with my foot and headed into the kitchen. “Yeah, dad, it’s me.” I had to shout a little; the kitchen wasn’t far from the living room but with the TV on you could barely hear a thing. I swore it was like he was going deaf. Who puts their TV on the highest volume setting anyways?
I placed my Coronas in the fridge, grabbing one Blue Moon that was already in there for my dad. I really didn’t know how he could drink that stuff, it was disgusting.
Yuck.
Picking up the red box movie from the table, I made my way to him. He was reclined all the way back, with his feet in the air. I couldn’t help but giggle. He moved his head so he was looking toward me. I handed him the beer but he shook his head so I placed it on the coffee table.
I sat down on the sofa, relaxing as best as I could. “What are you watching?” I asked, glancing at the TV. It looked like some horrible kung fu movie. The kind where the lips keep moving when nobody is talking. How the heck could anyone sit through this? It was stupid.
But he didn’t answer my question. Instead, he asked, “What’s that in your hand?”
I lifted my beer. “Corona.” I knew he wasn’t talking about that but I couldn’t pass up a sarcastic remark.
My dad was a big guy. I don’t mean fat or anything, but he had a slight beer belly. Not like those guys who look like they are carrying a child but the kind of belly where you can tell its owner has had a few beers in his time. My dad was fifty-six but his hair was almost completely white; he blamed it on his side of the family. We had the same button nose and full lips. I’m guessing I got my 5’3 height from someone else because he was well over six foot. He was my teddy bear.
“Really, wiseass? I’m talking about that red box thing in your hand?” he said.
“Oh, this thing? It’s a cowboy movie,” I explained and he looked at me confused. He knew I didn’t watch those movies. I found them very boring and I always slept through them.
He lowered his feet from the recliner and sat upright. “I thought you had a date, honey.” Concern filled his eyes.
I shrugged. “He’s busy.” I didn’t want to get into details, at least not right now. He was such a concerned father; I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I felt like my problems had been his for too long a time now and I don’t want to burden him anymore.
“I’m sorry, baby. You want to talk about it?”
Shaking my head, I walked to the DVD player and popped the movie in before walking back. “Tonight is father-daughter night.”
Stealing a glance at him I saw that he had stood up and was making his way to me. Leaning my head way back, I looked up at him. “That sounds perfect,” he said, sitting down next to me on the sofa.
“Dad, you can stay on your recliner.”
He put his arm around me, pulling me in close. “I want to be with my baby girl.”
“I need to thank Grey for this.” I told him leaning into his side listening to his strong heartbeat.
My own personal teddy bear.
He’d done it all for me. I could remember when I was about four, or maybe a little older, I think, I was running up and down the sidewalk when all of a sudden I fell hard, scraping the shit out of my knee. The skin was pulled back and blood was everywhere. When he heard my scream he ran to me. I don’t think I’d ever seen him move that fast. He scooped me up like a baby to bring me inside our apartment.
Putting the peroxide on the scrape made my eyes tear up, so whenever it burned or stung he would blow very hard, making his cheeks big and red. I couldn’t help but giggle. He was always trying to make me laugh.
But even though he would try to make me laugh there were times I would catch him thinking. Stress was written on
I kicked the door shut with my foot and headed into the kitchen. “Yeah, dad, it’s me.” I had to shout a little; the kitchen wasn’t far from the living room but with the TV on you could barely hear a thing. I swore it was like he was going deaf. Who puts their TV on the highest volume setting anyways?
I placed my Coronas in the fridge, grabbing one Blue Moon that was already in there for my dad. I really didn’t know how he could drink that stuff, it was disgusting.
Yuck.
Picking up the red box movie from the table, I made my way to him. He was reclined all the way back, with his feet in the air. I couldn’t help but giggle. He moved his head so he was looking toward me. I handed him the beer but he shook his head so I placed it on the coffee table.
I sat down on the sofa, relaxing as best as I could. “What are you watching?” I asked, glancing at the TV. It looked like some horrible kung fu movie. The kind where the lips keep moving when nobody is talking. How the heck could anyone sit through this? It was stupid.
But he didn’t answer my question. Instead, he asked, “What’s that in your hand?”
I lifted my beer. “Corona.” I knew he wasn’t talking about that but I couldn’t pass up a sarcastic remark.
My dad was a big guy. I don’t mean fat or anything, but he had a slight beer belly. Not like those guys who look like they are carrying a child but the kind of belly where you can tell its owner has had a few beers in his time. My dad was fifty-six but his hair was almost completely white; he blamed it on his side of the family. We had the same button nose and full lips. I’m guessing I got my 5’3 height from someone else because he was well over six foot. He was my teddy bear.
“Really, wiseass? I’m talking about that red box thing in your hand?” he said.
“Oh, this thing? It’s a cowboy movie,” I explained and he looked at me confused. He knew I didn’t watch those movies. I found them very boring and I always slept through them.
He lowered his feet from the recliner and sat upright. “I thought you had a date, honey.” Concern filled his eyes.
I shrugged. “He’s busy.” I didn’t want to get into details, at least not right now. He was such a concerned father; I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I felt like my problems had been his for too long a time now and I don’t want to burden him anymore.
“I’m sorry, baby. You want to talk about it?”
Shaking my head, I walked to the DVD player and popped the movie in before walking back. “Tonight is father-daughter night.”
Stealing a glance at him I saw that he had stood up and was making his way to me. Leaning my head way back, I looked up at him. “That sounds perfect,” he said, sitting down next to me on the sofa.
“Dad, you can stay on your recliner.”
He put his arm around me, pulling me in close. “I want to be with my baby girl.”
“I need to thank Grey for this.” I told him leaning into his side listening to his strong heartbeat.
My own personal teddy bear.
He’d done it all for me. I could remember when I was about four, or maybe a little older, I think, I was running up and down the sidewalk when all of a sudden I fell hard, scraping the shit out of my knee. The skin was pulled back and blood was everywhere. When he heard my scream he ran to me. I don’t think I’d ever seen him move that fast. He scooped me up like a baby to bring me inside our apartment.
Putting the peroxide on the scrape made my eyes tear up, so whenever it burned or stung he would blow very hard, making his cheeks big and red. I couldn’t help but giggle. He was always trying to make me laugh.
But even though he would try to make me laugh there were times I would catch him thinking. Stress was written on
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