My Father and I
A short story I wrote in 2000 for one of my Creative Writing elective classes. I still like it, even though the technique is rudimentary at best.
He has been there at every major crossroads in my life, quietly guiding me and protecting me. I wasn't aware of his involvement until I was 16, and then, he became a major part of my life, always there, always watching out for me.
There was the time when my sister became pregnant out of marriage, an act that nearly tore apart our family. I remember that night after the revelation so vividly; the dark of the living room because no one had bothered to change out the light bulbs… the dog barking, alone, in the neighbor's yard… the gentle creak as I rocked back and forth on the worn, blue Laz-E-Boy, still shell-shocked by the news. When I began to cry, he calmly stepped over to sit down on the arm of the chair. He put a massive arm around my shuddering shoulders and held me tightly, whispering words of reassurance to me. Most of all, though, I remember how he consoled her during that time. He was there in spite of the things she said and did that hurt him so deeply; the things that made him cry.
And when she lost the child in a miscarriage, and our family was beaten down even more, he stood rock-solid, a constant in the midst of ever-changing circumstances. He never wavered in his love for each of us, even when our actions hurt him even more than I will ever know. My anger and resentment at the actions perpetrated by my sister were completely against everything he had taught me, but still, he loved me, listened to me and finally granted his forgiveness to me when I asked for it. At times, I am unable to even forgive myself for some of the things I said to her; the times when I should have followed his example and just loved her. That was what she needed, not my self-righteous chastising. When he finally showed this to me - and she and I were reconciled - we sat together and wept, with him standing over us, smiling.
Less bitter times came, when he provided us with a new house… the excitement over all of us laboring over the freshly laid carpet with those fuzzy, little left-over pieces being kicked around by our feet as we rushed to move in. When we all sat around and watched movies together - movies are a mainstay in the Tovar household - his favorites were the ones he could relate to; that most embodied his characteristics. Needless to say, most of the ones we watched were not of that variety. But he sat with us anyway.
Times when embarrassing things happened to me; such as when I tried to be suave and sophisticated in front of a girl in a pool hall, with my friends present,… he was there, watching and laughing lovingly as I made a fool of myself. Or the first time I tried to pass off one of my gaseous emmitances as someone else's… he lightly slapped me in the back of the head and chided me for not being completely honest.
And then there was the time when we had to rush my father to the emergency room out of fear that he was suffering a stroke or heart attack… the nerve-wracking hours spent amidst a sea of Pine-Sol disinfectant-tinged air as we awaited results… my Father was there as well.
Even now, as I sit here, writing these things down and remembering, he sits, watching and reading over my shoulder… guiding me. Loving me. Protecting me. Inspiring me.