A Gift from My Father

He pulls it out of my hands
my hands which lock down like vice-grips
and it hurts so much more more
because I squeeze harder

and he peels finger by finger away
from it and I say No!
and I kick and I fight
and it hurts and I’m sad and

I push my face into the ground
angry and hurt and sad and empty
and I cry and pout and say
horrible things
like I don’t want to be your son anymore
and You’re not my Dad

and he’s sitting there and the
thing I had held is set away safely in a cabinet
(I guess I don’t know)
and he leans down and lightly
puts his hand on my back
and says Look at me son and
I Humph and look away

he waits firm and says strongly
Look at me son

and I do and he isn’t angry
and I sit up and he holds my face
a cheek in each palm
with his fingers barely touching
above my temples next to my eyes
and he says I love you

Written by

Walking with Jesus, @LauraSlavich, our kids, and the @CrossUnitedSFL fam in the warm breezes of sunny SoFla

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