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"Where's your Daddy?" he asks. "Good question, Levi." Where's my Daddy? I've spent a heap of time at the Dirks' lately and when I'm here I feel a lot more comfortable than I do in most other places. It means, though, that I see a whole lot of their family interaction and it's all so loving and I wonder if my family ever had that, and if I'll ever have that. Did my parents ever adore me so much that they had nicknames that I'd want them to stop using once I hit primary school? Were they willing to read a book to me over and over again until I fell asleep? I don't know, but what I do know is that what I see of other families affirms that something was terribly wrong with mine. Or maybe what I've seen lately is the exception. One of the teenagers that helps out at Warrawong was waiting for her brother to finish up some music stuff, and her Dad had his arm around her as they waited and it was so casual and normal and loving. I can't remember the last time Dad hugged me. Not even a pat on the back. Tonight I've spent the whole night curled up on the Dirks' couch thinking about Levi's question, and I'm glad that his Daddy is right there for him to say prayers at night and be comforting and fun and do what a Dad is meant to do... but man, I got screwed over. "Where's your Daddy?" ...I'm not sure. Post a comment in response: |
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