Footsteps to Understanding

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I walked into my room for the night, leaving what I thought was understanding. I cried for what felt like hours, I felt my heart break in two. At that point I realized that I couldn't think anymore. My mind was drawing a blank, is this real? No, I'm sleeping this is just a dream. It made me cry even more to know that this was real. He wasn't going to fight for me, he didn't even try. Fine!! He doesn't need to know me, I'M DONE!! That day I started to pack my bags. I wasn't even with my dad for a whole day, and I was already ready to go back home. One fight to make me stop believing. As I thought, my step aunt comes into my room. Out of all the people in that house, she was the last person I thought I would turn to. But she helped me realize a little bit. When I calmed down I tried again. All I wanted was for him to listen. We took a walk, I slipped on my black studded coverses, my favorites at the time. He talked to me about different things. Stuff with family, some encluding my older sister and myself. about how he grew up. I listened with not my head but with my heart. At those few moments, I started to open up. My understanding started to come back into my life. For what felt like the first time in forever my dad really started to listen to what I had to say. I saw him start to join his world with mine. Even after we were done talking, we still walked, collecting our thoughts. I stared at my shoes than back at his. We were so different, his feet bigger than mine, yet still the same, our black converes walking together. I saw that our worlds weren't so far apart. His and mine. Big and small. Old and young. The wise and the learning. Father and daughter. Willard and Keira. My dad and me. We understood eachother, thought a little differently. That night I didn't get back on a plane to California, I stayed. We left footprints on the sidewalk, just like many others with many different problems. But to me ours have a bigger meaning. The meaning of understanding for what feels like forever.





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