The Disappointment of Father

It seeps from his pores and hides in the pupils of his eyes. It’s the uncomfortable truth between us. 

The outside remains tactful, but the infection spreads deep inside him. It festers and oozes with each of my failures.

When he introduces me I hear the faint whisper of apology in his voice. It seems as if “She’s not my real daughter” is barely hanging from his tongue waiting to be thrust into the conversation, so he can be exalted from any responsibility for my very existence. 

He smiles a forged smile and winks at me, eyes brimming with “if only”s. And yet, every time I see him I believe something I do will make him shout with astonishment and glory “My daughter! I’m so proud of you!” 

I flaunt my feathers like a peacock waiting for his approval, begging for just the tiniest speck of attention from him. Any spark will do. It won’t come… it never does.

I stand on my tippy toes, wave my hands, shout, smile, dance, sing, and then... finally, slump with heartbreak pounding in my chest and stealing my breath just as he stole my pride. 

A father’s love is invaluable to a girl. It gives her the knowledge that she is the one and only princess. 

At least he had another.