My father

I'm just like my father and I hate it. I have his temper, his face, his hair, his voice, his eyes, his stares, his actions, his anger, and so much more. I'm an exact replica of him.

I hate him with a burning passing but I can't help but want to love him. I want to be his little girl again, to be his support when no one would be, to sit with him on the couch as he watches football. I want to go back and live through it all one last time.

I was his defender when my mother would argue with him saying, "Dad has bad days too! He doesn't mean what he did!" But I did know he meant what he did. I just liked to think he regretted it. It was quite sad knowing you have a horrible father at the age of 4. He wasn't perfect, no one is but he could've been better.

I want him to carry me on his shoulders again and as he spins around I giggle and look up at the stars wondering if he loves me to the moon and back just as I do.

I want him to walk me into school and we try not to step on the lines or we lose, if one of us lost we just laughed it off and tickled each other. The teachers thought we were the perfect family, so did my friends. I feel bad for them. They were jealous of a man who thought was a perfect father who only turned out to be the most horrible man ever.

I want him carry me from his truck, up the stairs into the house and take me to my room to tuck me in. I'd be fake sleeping that whole time just to be carried by him. He'd lay me in my twin size bed and pull my Dora blanket over me but before that he turns on my puppy nightlight because I don't like the dark. He kisses my forehead whispering, "I love you mija." And he leaves the room quietly but before closing the door he looks back with a smile and softly shuts it.

I want us to walk down the frozen food section and as we buy the things we need he let's me get something I want. I always picked his favorite ice cream so we can share and have something in common.

I want to sit in the back of his truck having the wind blows through my hair and his soft Banda music plays in the background I watch the sunset wondering if he'll kiss me goodnight and still love me like I love him.

But we can't do those things anymore, we can't fix each other. He's dead and gone, I can't do anything about it. I can only sit in bed and cry as I remember the little good memories I have with him. Even if he wasn't the best father I would do almost anything to see him one last time and to tell him I hate him before hugging him.

I want him to call me what he has always called me, his 'pudgy papaya'. It might sound confusing and cringe but to me it meant everything. I called him my 'daddy grape' because he loved green grapes. It's funny cause I don't like papayas but I didn't care.

I'd do anything just to have him shout at me if it meant to hear his voice one last time.