Father

Sometimes I feel like I hate my father. Other times I think that I don’t even know him well enough to warrant the feeling of hatred. On an average day, he’ll maybe speak 25 words to me. Usually, 80% of it is negative. I’m fat, I’m good for nothing, I’m lazy, I’m a stupid child. The other 20% of the words uttered are when he jokes with me. My dad and I have a similar sense of humor. It usually involves either lame puns or quick wit. I’m not scared of my dad because my big mouth never lets him have the last word. But the few tactless words that he does manage to utter to me fester in my stomach like a cancerous knot. From behind my heart, tears fight through, and my eyes aren’t strong enough to hold back them back. With each drop that falls, I am defeated. I am weak. My dad is not a mean person. He just never knew how to put himself at my level. All the wisdom I ever learned from him I have learned through others. He could never reach me and he never tried. His words only tell me that he resents my existence. My father figure has not been my dad, but my heavenly father. He takes me under his gentle wing and tells me that I am wanted and I am special because he created me long before the day I was born. He knows that I am not perfect but he loves me anyway. My heavenly father once put himself at my level. He showed how he loved me so much that he sacrificed his own son so that I will never endure any more pain at the end of my earthly life.
My days here with my earthly father are numbered. I just pray that before the end of those days, he’ll be able to reach me too.