My Father: A Short Story

I felt my father’s hand swiftly come down on me…

When you’re 6 years old, you don’t have a care in the world. When I was 6 I could step on LEGOs, fall out of trees, scrape my knees and feel no pain whatsoever. You’re oblivious to the harshness of the world as the only thing you really think about is what episode of Ed, Edd, n’ Eddy are they going to show next on Cartoon Network. Now that I’m grown, I tend to reflect on a lot of the events throughout my life. One thing I remember much of is the seriousness of my father. My dad, Louis Ramirez, is, has, and will most likely always be a very stern, observationalist of a man. The strong silent type people may call him. My father tends to be the person at a party who sits back and just watches

I woke up an hour later to hear my father coming down the stairs to get ready to go to work. He has a 12 hour shift from 4am to 4pm 5 days a week and always has for as long as I can remember, I’m 20. I stared at the TV and watched whatever random advertisement was on Comedy Central (It was likely “Girls Gone Wild”, I remember a lot of that when I was little. I was too young to understand why it was awesome, but I knew it was awesome.) until the noises in the kitchen would cease and I could go back to bed. However, I instead heard the kitchen noises followed by steps down the hallway. I quickly turned over in my bed and faced the wall (remember, “Girls Gone Wild”) so as not to be asked why I was up so late. I heard my father step into the room and stand by my side. He stood there for quite some time until doing something he had never done before. He placed his hand on my shoulder. It was there for about 8 seconds, but it felt like time itself stopped. I couldn’t remember the last time my father had shown me any sign of approval or even love, yet here he was doing exactly that when he thought I was asleep. After he left, I felt tears roll down my face and wet my pillow. My family isn’t strong on showing compassion or love to one another but I felt it that day and always remember

Now that I’m older, I feel much more sympathy for what my father went through in order to put myself and my 3 siblings through school. Working countless hours at the same job for over 20 years, trying to provide for us, fixing our cars when they broke down, cleaning up the yard every so often, all usually without a simple thank you. Right now I work as a personal trainer and seeing as my dad has decided to take up running 30 minutes every other day in their schedules brings me great pride. I help him whenever he wants clarity on an exercise, how to use certain equipment, or just about healthy eating because it gives up something to talk about and grow closer with. Right now I’m writing this paper in my old room I had all those years ago to see if it helped create this. Believe me, it has. As I walk, every creak in the floorboards reminds me of my father walking into the room that day. My “Girl’s Gone Wild” poster shamelessly hangs on my wall near the very first game system my dad bought me when I was 8. With the smell of nostalgia in the air, I can happily remember all the goods times I’ve had in this house and with my father. In a way, this air from the past sort of helps me. I inhale the past so that I can exhale for the future.

It’s kind of funny, when you’re young you wish you could grow up, but once you’re grown you wish you could be young again. My father lost his innocence at a young age and