Creative Practice

Today, I was bored. This is the result…

Upon first glance, he seemed to blend in with the rest of the crowd at the bar. A man unsuspecting to most, but to me, he sticks out like a sore thumb. His usually centered mind seemed scattered, as he unsteadily raised the glass to his dry lips. His hair scruffy and face uncared for, something highly unnatural for the healthy, vibrant role model of a man I knew. Despite sitting in plain sight, he seemed dragged into the corner, too afraid to come out. I yearned for him to stop — my screaming shattering into silence as I know he cannot hear me.

To see my father like this is peculiar to me. A sense of powerlessness, fused with guilt — an unusual emotion to say the least. I wish he knew I was looking over him, willing him to move on with his life. Instead, I can feel the joy that filled his heart slowly waning, joy I took with me. I used to look up to him, a man who breathed confidence in me during the most difficult of tasks. A man who thought the world of me. It’s a shame that all I can do is look down upon him, and never repay the love he gave me.

Months have passed now, and my dad is still vulnerable. I see him looking down at me, expecting him to quickly turn his heel and be on his way. However, the sun managed to glow on his pale face instead of shy away from it — something was different. Instead, he stood. He stood silently for around ten minutes. Upon closer inspection, I could see his posture had uplifted as if a weight had been pulled from his shoulders. For once, despite the grizzly, unshaven look on his face, it looked like he didn’t force the weight of blame on his shoulders anymore. I wouldn’t say it was like a new lease of life, it was more like his entire persona was seemingly fraught with energy. He then knelt down by my grave and took one, deep breath.

“Hi, sweetie. Let me tell you about my day…”