I miss my dad
I miss his warm hugs. I dont even know how he gave warm hugs, but his hugs were the best. He’s the scrawniest person, I swear, but he gives these warm hugs, almost like a grandma, but tall and better. When I was little, he could hold me in the palm of his hand. I haven’t held my dad’s hand in years. I always wanted to grow up and be big, but I miss being his baby now. I miss the way he called me “the archaeologist” when i dug in the front yard. When I was born, my dad was already approaching his 40s, but you couldn’t tell. He acted like he was 20. He could open any jar, fix anything that broke, do anything I needed. He used to care when I cried. He used to ask me what was wrong, and make me laugh. But now he doesn’t see me cry. He’s too busy working, or sleeping, or drinking with his friends. He’s not an alcoholic though. I remember when he didn’t drink for months. And everything was the same. But he went out less. He didn’t talk to people. He closed. I made my dad age. Maybe it wasn’t just me, maybe it was everything going on that I didn’t know about, still don’t know about, but I know he aged. One day, I noticed the wrinkles, and the way his eyes didn’t gleam as much, the way his shoulders slumped, just a little bit. It was so subtle, I doubt my family even noticed. But I noticed. Sometimes I wonder if my parents were already old and tired when I was born. Either way, I just wish I got experience what it’s like to have parents. Whole-hearted, fully invested parents. The kind that aren’t too tired to take you fishing. He took my brother fishing. He taught my brother and sister how to fly a plane. He used to travel with them and everything. But I missed it. I’ve never even gotten to see his plane in person. And it makes me sad. I guess I don’t miss my dad. I miss the person he was. The person I didn’t quite get to know. He’s still my best friend, but I wish there was more there.
