Growing up without a father was hard for me. The privilege of being daddy’s little girl vanished after I turned eight years old. Yet, he was never around for long after entering my life. What felt like a years was only several months after he came home. I would try to hold on to every memory we had together my mind could grasp then. However, I can’t remember any of them today. Like my father was never a part of my life for that amount of time. Almost like I never had a father in the first place and in was just a dream.
I remember myself dreaming that someday he’ll be back for me; once it hit that he was never coming. I still find myself dreaming that today and don’t think it’ll stop. I’m fifteen now and not once have I seen him again. Though people say I look like him, it’s been too long for me to recall what he looks like. I look in the mirror and try to remember. I don’t pity myself for growing up that way. I just feel bad for him since he’s missing out on the life of a smart and talented, beautiful and strong, young woman who is his daughter.