He was always there for me; all 190 lbs of him. Six-foot on the dot, with proportionately broad shoulders that delicately cradled my head and, on various accounts, sponged up my salty, snake-like tears. His brawny arms, relative in length to his stature, were never unprepared to embrace me if ever I fell. The whites in his eyes, due to the unyielding years, have now begun to dim into an ivory-amber hue; however the hazel, blue-green of his irises never cease to calm and comfort me whenever needed. The subtle vibrations in his speech are humble, as they have always been, and suppress any oncoming anxieties, forcing me to reminisce about several experiences we’ve shared in the past.
Ever since I was a little girl, possessing evidence of my baby fat, and sporting Disney-character outfits and bleach-blonde pigtails, I have been one to worry – about anything, everything, and even nothing. I constantly found myself tripping over the same thoughts as if I were a broken record, going round and round in dizzy circles, getting caught on the same meaningless words. In fear that I could not handle my problems alone; I reached out to my dad for guidance – he never failed to reach back. He gave me light when all I could see was darkness; instilled in me a sense of perseverance and told me to just keep going even when I passionately felt like I couldn’t; but above all, he gave me something and someone to believe in at the times in my life when I didn’t believe in myself.
As I am several years older (and as I like to think – wiser), I have, for the most part grown out of my repression of resorting to my dad to reassure my thoughts and solve my problems. Now that I am 19 and according to society’s standards – an adult – I make a conscious effort to work things out on my own; ever so seldom do I find myself confronting an issue in which I feel that I cannot handle. Yet I understand that I am human and realize that I will make mistakes and, on occasion, need to ask for help. Thus, when these times present themselves to me, I know that I will always be able to lean on my dad and know that he will be there, with his all-too familiar shoulders and his ever-embracing arms, willing to talk me through things every step of the way.
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Awh, really sweet story! I really enjoyed reading your blog and knowing that you have a close relationship with your father. That’s really great because not everyone has that. =) I liked how you began your blog like a mystery, describing your father’s characteristics then telling us who the individual was. Your opening makes the reader want to continue reading to find out who you’re talking about. Nice job! One thing that I really liked from your blog was that I could relate to it on a personal level, growing up and “being an adult” does come with a lot of responsibilities. But it never hurts to ask for a little help, since we probably all do it at one pint or another LOL! =) Looking forward to your next blog…
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This was a great story! I especially loved the description of you and your father. I'm also commpletely attached to the metaphor of you being like a broken record spinning around. Also, how when you were little you worried all the time, but when you grew up you learned to handle it. I used to worry all the time too when I was little. Great blog post! Have a good Spring Break! :)
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