The Father I Figured
He may not be the best father, but for me, he was.
He may not be a good provider, but I think he did the best he could.
He may not be the most handsome father, but I heard he has proven me wrong.
My father was a drunkard. He drank more alcohol than water in his lifetime. He was already a drunkard when he met my mother. He died a drunkard.
But he wasn’t the typical drunkard we commonly see. He just loved to drink and slept over it after. He becomes softhearted when he drinks, emotional when drunk. Alcohol gave him the strength to say the things he couldn’t when sober.
He came from a broken family. He is the youngest of three. His father left them. Later, his mother took off bringing his older brother with her. He literally lived in the street.
He doesn’t want us to experience what he did. Every time he and my mother had a misunderstanding, he was always the cool one. My mother took off many times, but my father always brought her back home.
He made me kneel on a bed of salt. But, that was the time he caught me smoking. I was seven years old. Me and my friend, out of curiosity, brought a pack of cheap cigarettes, heed to the mountain nearby and smoked. Unfortunately, my father was there gathering firewood. I don’t smoke now and I was never a smoker.
He practically sharpened a bolo right before my eyes, threatening to cut all my fingers. That was the time he found me playing cards, gambling. I don’t gamble a play any game of chance now.
He may not have given us what he thought as better life, but also I wasn’t able to give him a life I thought was better. He never gave me a chance, he took off early.
I could be wrong, maybe I had the chance. Maybe the life I thought he needed was not what he wanted. Maybe what was he wanted, I had it all the time.
I miss him.