HOME | DD

Description
                I never had a father while growing up. I remember when I was seven, I would ask my mother, “Where is Papa?” She would smile sadly and reply, “He is in heaven, beloved.”
        I always thought of him as gone forever until last year, when my mama died. As we came home from the funeral, my uncle introduced a man to me. He was going to be my guardian from now on, my uncle explained.
        Initially, it was difficult adjusting to my new guardian. Yet, he was such an endearing man. He played games with me, and he would tell me stories at night. I found that I fell in love with him.
        Before the month was over, I took a step and confessed my love for him. “I love you,” I explained. “You are my real father.” He smiled and tears glistened at the corners of his warm eyes.
        Soon, we became a family, but we loved each other in different ways. When we were together, he was my world, but through his eyes, there were so many other things to worry about. To me, he was the only one, but to him, I seemed just another girl.
        “Papa, do you want to go roller blading?” I asked one day.
        “I can’t,” he nonchalantly responded.
        “Why? Do you need to work?” I felt disappointment clutching at the very strings of my existence.
        “No,” he explained, “I am going to meet a friend.”
        He was always like that. He met people, answered calls, and typed away on his laptop—all like I was a mere statue in his presence. To him I was simply a dependant. The word ‘love’ only came from my mouth. Since I knew him, I had never heard him say ‘I love you.’ He didn’t say anything meaningful from the first day we united. Much to my dismay, it continued.
        Every day, before he went to work, he would hand me a new doll. This happened religiously, without fail. I don’t know why.
        “Um, Papa, I—”
        “What? Don’t drag it out, just say it.”
        Head bent and eyes fixated on his shoes, I meekly replied, “I love you.”
        “… You… um, just take this doll and go to school.” How abrasive, I thought. He coolly ignored my “three words” by handing me the doll. He then disappeared as if he was fleeing from me. The dolls I received from him everyday filled my room, one by one. There were so many…
        After a few weeks, my twelfth birthday came. When I got up that summer morning, I pictured a party with him, and waited patiently in my room for a phone call. Breakfast passed, then lunch and dinner, and soon the sky was dark from my bedroom window. He still didn’t call, even my nanny was getting worried. Exhausted from the disappointment, I could hardly look at the phone.
        Around 2 A.M., I heard an urgent knocking at my bedroom door and was awakened from my sleep, only to find him standing in the doorframe. He told me to come out of my room. Even though he was late, I felt overjoyed and obeyed him happily. My eyes wide now and my arms reaching before me to accept a hug, I exclaimed, “Papa, you’re home!” Again, he stiffly handed me a little doll.
        “Here, take this,” he mumbled and extended his arm so that I could receive the gift.
        “What’s this?” I questioned.
        “I didn’t have a chance to give it to you yesterday, so I am giving it to you now. Get some sleep now. Good night.” He turned his back to leave the room and fumbled with the door handle.
        “Wait!”  I desperately cried. “Do you know what today is?”
        “Today?” Turning to look back at me, he appeared perplexed.
I felt so sad; I thought he would certainly remember my birthday. He turned again and walked away like nothing had happened. Then I pleaded, “Wait!”
        “You have something to say?”
        I clung to his shirt like the naïve little girl that I was. “Tell me. Tell me you love me.”
        “What?”
        “Tell me,” I persisted.
        I clung to him for dear life, but he just said simple cold words and left. “I don’t want to say that I love someone so easily. If you are so desperate to hear it, find someone else.” He walked to his room, his steps creating a steady rhythm. My world had crashed and burned. My legs felt numb as I collapsed to the ground.
        He didn’t want to say it easily…
        How could he…
        I felt that…
        Maybe he is not the right father for me…
        After that day, I secluded myself at home crying, just crying. He didn’t talk to me, although I was waiting to hear anything in response to that evening. He just continued handing me a little doll every morning outside my room.
        A month passed by and it was time for school to start up again. Luckily, I had recovered slightly and was able to function properly. The pain resurfaced when I saw him on the street. With another woman—and her son. There was the man I had called ‘Papa.’ He had a huge smile on his face, one that he never showed me and held a doll in his arms, too.
        I ran straight back home and looked at all of the dolls in my room. Salty tears streaked my hot face. Why did he give these to me? These dolls were probably picked out by some other person—his secretary or some other friend of his! In a fit of anger, I flung the dolls across the floor and watched them settle in a heap.
        Suddenly, someone knocked. There he stood. He told me to come out to the park outside our house. Simple as that. I wanted to know if he had even a slip of care left for me, but he showed no sign.
        I spent a few minutes trying to calm myself and then walked to our meeting place, reminding myself that I was going to forget him, my father—that it was going to end. I was going to leave our family.
        Then he came into my sight, holding a big doll.
        “Leigh, I thought you were too upset. You really came?”
        I couldn’t help hating him, as he acted like nothing had happened and joked around. Soon, he held out the doll as usual.
        “I don’t need it,” I coolly responded and crossed my arms.
        “What—why?”
        I yanked the doll from his hands and threw it into the road. “I don’t need this doll. I don’t want it anymore! I never want to see a person like you again!” I spat out all the words that were inside me. However, unlike other days, his eyes were tearing up.
        “I’m sorry,” he apologized in a meek voice. He then walked over to the road to pick up the doll.
        “You are stupid! Why are you picking up the doll? Just throw it away!” I called after him. But he ignored me and continued walking.
        Then…
        HONK-HONK
        With a blaring horn, a massive truck was heading towards him.
        “Move, stupid! Move away!” I screamed. But he still didn’t hear me; he squatted down and picked up the doll. “Papa, MOVE!”
        HONK-!
        BOOM!
        That sound, so terrifying.
        That’s how he went away from me. That’s how he went away without even opening his eyes to say one final word to me.
        After that day, I had to go through every second with the guilt and sadness of losing him.
        Proceeding the two months I spent on the verge of insanity, I finally took out the dolls. Those were the only gifts he left me since the day he started being my father. I remembered the days I spent with him and started to count the days when we were a family, the two of us.
        “One, two, three…” I began to count the dolls. “Four hundred and eighty-four, four hundred and eighty-five.”  It all ended with a cumulative of 485 dolls.
        I started to cry again, with a doll in my arms. I hugged it tightly, then suddenly—
        “I love you- I love you!”
        I dropped the doll, shocked.
        I… love… you?
        I picked up the doll and pressed its stomach.
        “I love you- I love you!”  it wailed again.
        It can’t be!
        I pressed all the dolls’ stomachs in succession.
        “I love you-”
        “I love you-”
        “I love you-”
        Those words reverberated throughout my body like Alka-Seltzer effervesces through a glass of water.
        I… love… you…
        Why didn’t I realize that his heart was always by my side, loving me through these dolls? Why didn’t I realize that he loved me this much, but just was unable to verbally express it? My tears were incessantly streaming down my cheeks.
        I took out the doll under my bed and pressed its stomach. That was the last doll, the one that fell limp on the road. It still had his blood stain on it.
        I pressed its stomach and a voice came out, the one voice that I was longing so desperately to hear.
        “Leigh, do you know what today is? It’s been 486 days since you’ve been my daughter! One year and four months! I’m sorry I couldn’t say I love you. Uh… I was too shy… I’ve never loved someone so much before. I was an orphan, too. But unlike you, no family ever had me so long. After a few months they would give me up because I was too difficult to live with. They would say they loved me but then go away. I couldn’t do that to you; give you an empty promise of a family. I love you too much. I’m sorry. If you forgive me and take this doll, I will say that I love you… everyday… until I die… because I know that you are my real daughter. Leigh… I love you…”
        Why? Why? I demanded God, why do I only know about all this now? He can’t be by my side, but he loved me until his last minute.
        And I knew then that from this experience I had lost a world in love but at the same time had gained a true family.

Description
                I never had a father while growing up. I remember when I was seven, I would ask my mother, “Where is Papa?” She would smile sadly and reply, “He is in heaven, beloved.”
        I always thought of him as gone forever until last year, when my mama died. As we came home from the funeral, my uncle introduced a man to me. He was going to be my guardian from now on, my uncle explained.
        Initially, it was difficult adjusting to my new guardian. Yet, he was such an endearing man. He played games with me, and he would tell me stories at night. I found that I fell in love with him.
        Before the month was over, I took a step and confessed my love for him. “I love you,” I explained. “You are my real father.” He smiled and tears glistened at the corners of his warm eyes.
        Soon, we became a family, but we loved each other in different ways. When we were together, he was my world, but through his eyes, there were so many other things to worry about. To me, he was the only one, but to him, I seemed just another girl.
        “Papa, do you want to go roller blading?” I asked one day.
        “I can’t,” he nonchalantly responded.
        “Why? Do you need to work?” I felt disappointment clutching at the very strings of my existence.
        “No,” he explained, “I am going to meet a friend.”
        He was always like that. He met people, answered calls, and typed away on his laptop—all like I was a mere statue in his presence. To him I was simply a dependant. The word ‘love’ only came from my mouth. Since I knew him, I had never heard him say ‘I love you.’ He didn’t say anything meaningful from the first day we united. Much to my dismay, it continued.
        Every day, before he went to work, he would hand me a new doll. This happened religiously, without fail. I don’t know why.
        “Um, Papa, I—”
        “What? Don’t drag it out, just say it.”
        Head bent and eyes fixated on his shoes, I meekly replied, “I love you.”
        “… You… um, just take this doll and go to school.” How abrasive, I thought. He coolly ignored my “three words” by handing me the doll. He then disappeared as if he was fleeing from me. The dolls I received from him everyday filled my room, one by one. There were so many…
        After a few weeks, my twelfth birthday came. When I got up that summer morning, I pictured a party with him, and waited patiently in my room for a phone call. Breakfast passed, then lunch and dinner, and soon the sky was dark from my bedroom window. He still didn’t call, even my nanny was getting worried. Exhausted from the disappointment, I could hardly look at the phone.
        Around 2 A.M., I heard an urgent knocking at my bedroom door and was awakened from my sleep, only to find him standing in the doorframe. He told me to come out of my room. Even though he was late, I felt overjoyed and obeyed him happily. My eyes wide now and my arms reaching before me to accept a hug, I exclaimed, “Papa, you’re home!” Again, he stiffly handed me a little doll.
        “Here, take this,” he mumbled and extended his arm so that I could receive the gift.
        “What’s this?” I questioned.
        “I didn’t have a chance to give it to you yesterday, so I am giving it to you now. Get some sleep now. Good night.” He turned his back to leave the room and fumbled with the door handle.
        “Wait!”  I desperately cried. “Do you know what today is?”
        “Today?” Turning to look back at me, he appeared perplexed.
I felt so sad; I thought he would certainly remember my birthday. He turned again and walked away like nothing had happened. Then I pleaded, “Wait!”
        “You have something to say?”
        I clung to his shirt like the naïve little girl that I was. “Tell me. Tell me you love me.”
        “What?”
        “Tell me,” I persisted.
        I clung to him for dear life, but he just said simple cold words and left. “I don’t want to say that I love someone so easily. If you are so desperate to hear it, find someone else.” He walked to his room, his steps creating a steady rhythm. My world had crashed and burned. My legs felt numb as I collapsed to the ground.
        He didn’t want to say it easily…
        How could he…
        I felt that…
        Maybe he is not the right father for me…
        After that day, I secluded myself at home crying, just crying. He didn’t talk to me, although I was waiting to hear anything in response to that evening. He just continued handing me a little doll every morning outside my room.
        A month passed by and it was time for school to start up again. Luckily, I had recovered slightly and was able to function properly. The pain resurfaced when I saw him on the street. With another woman—and her son. There was the man I had called ‘Papa.’ He had a huge smile on his face, one that he never showed me and held a doll in his arms, too.
        I ran straight back home and looked at all of the dolls in my room. Salty tears streaked my hot face. Why did he give these to me? These dolls were probably picked out by some other person—his secretary or some other friend of his! In a fit of anger, I flung the dolls across the floor and watched them settle in a heap.
        Suddenly, someone knocked. There he stood. He told me to come out to the park outside our house. Simple as that. I wanted to know if he had even a slip of care left for me, but he showed no sign.
        I spent a few minutes trying to calm myself and then walked to our meeting place, reminding myself that I was going to forget him, my father—that it was going to end. I was going to leave our family.
        Then he came into my sight, holding a big doll.
        “Leigh, I thought you were too upset. You really came?”
        I couldn’t help hating him, as he acted like nothing had happened and joked around. Soon, he held out the doll as usual.
        “I don’t need it,” I coolly responded and crossed my arms.
        “What—why?”
        I yanked the doll from his hands and threw it into the road. “I don’t need this doll. I don’t want it anymore! I never want to see a person like you again!” I spat out all the words that were inside me. However, unlike other days, his eyes were tearing up.
        “I’m sorry,” he apologized in a meek voice. He then walked over to the road to pick up the doll.
        “You are stupid! Why are you picking up the doll? Just throw it away!” I called after him. But he ignored me and continued walking.
        Then…
        HONK-HONK
        With a blaring horn, a massive truck was heading towards him.
        “Move, stupid! Move away!” I screamed. But he still didn’t hear me; he squatted down and picked up the doll. “Papa, MOVE!”
        HONK-!
        BOOM!
        That sound, so terrifying.
        That’s how he went away from me. That’s how he went away without even opening his eyes to say one final word to me.
        After that day, I had to go through every second with the guilt and sadness of losing him.
        Proceeding the two months I spent on the verge of insanity, I finally took out the dolls. Those were the only gifts he left me since the day he started being my father. I remembered the days I spent with him and started to count the days when we were a family, the two of us.
        “One, two, three…” I began to count the dolls. “Four hundred and eighty-four, four hundred and eighty-five.”  It all ended with a cumulative of 485 dolls.
        I started to cry again, with a doll in my arms. I hugged it tightly, then suddenly—
        “I love you- I love you!”
        I dropped the doll, shocked.
        I… love… you?
        I picked up the doll and pressed its stomach.
        “I love you- I love you!”  it wailed again.
        It can’t be!
        I pressed all the dolls’ stomachs in succession.
        “I love you-”
        “I love you-”
        “I love you-”
        Those words reverberated throughout my body like Alka-Seltzer effervesces through a glass of water.
        I… love… you…
        Why didn’t I realize that his heart was always by my side, loving me through these dolls? Why didn’t I realize that he loved me this much, but just was unable to verbally express it? My tears were incessantly streaming down my cheeks.
        I took out the doll under my bed and pressed its stomach. That was the last doll, the one that fell limp on the road. It still had his blood stain on it.
        I pressed its stomach and a voice came out, the one voice that I was longing so desperately to hear.
        “Leigh, do you know what today is? It’s been 486 days since you’ve been my daughter! One year and four months! I’m sorry I couldn’t say I love you. Uh… I was too shy… I’ve never loved someone so much before. I was an orphan, too. But unlike you, no family ever had me so long. After a few months they would give me up because I was too difficult to live with. They would say they loved me but then go away. I couldn’t do that to you; give you an empty promise of a family. I love you too much. I’m sorry. If you forgive me and take this doll, I will say that I love you… everyday… until I die… because I know that you are my real daughter. Leigh… I love you…”
        Why? Why? I demanded God, why do I only know about all this now? He can’t be by my side, but he loved me until his last minute.
        And I knew then that from this experience I had lost a world in love but at the same time had gained a true family.