Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

My Dad

There's no way this frail man before me could possibly be my father. His wispy hair, sallow skin, and tired expression are not what I know my father to be. No, this is definitely not my father.

My dad is a strong man. My dad is a joker who will "ham it up" with anyone who makes the mistake of coming within a few feet of him. He has that personality that draws people in.

My dad is the guy who, when seeing that his children were being bullied in the playground, limped across the street despite having his knee in a brace to give the bullies a piece of his mind.

My dad is the one can strike fear in you with one look, then in a split second allay all fears with a smile. I can neither confirm nor deny that this scenario occurred one day in 1990 when my car broke down on the way back from Massachusetts after picking up my sister at college. Without my parent's knowledge!

My dad is the one who has dressed up time and again at my mother's request to play "The Late Great Potentate" for her Christmas plays. He is the one that imparts knowledge with a quiet word that makes you strain to make sure you hear what he has to say.

My dad is the one who bounces back from every injury, every ailment, every lightening strike (okay, so there was only one!) quicker than any doctor could imagine.

Yes, that is my dad.

But as I sit here looking into his tired eyes, I realize, this, too, is my dad. A man becoming more frail with age, more frail with each ailment.

I realize that the man I know is the man I choose to see. For to acknowledge the man I now see before me forces me to realize that my hero is, after all, a man.

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