I Remember.... | Teen Ink

I Remember....

November 27, 2009
By EstherSora GOLD, Woodside, New York
EstherSora GOLD, Woodside, New York
17 articles 1 photo 5 comments

I remember the time when I realized that a Dad was more than just a father figure to fill into my 3rd grade family tree. I remember coming home teary-eyed, with wet stains under my eyelids, and a look of frazzled uncertainty. I roamed the house searching from floor to ceiling for my pet hamster, Ovid. Ovid, the only thing that was part of my Christmas wish-list last year; the only thing that made me smile by causing me to show a small fragment of my two ugly Dracula-looking front teeth. I remember desperately praying quietly to myself at school. “Dear God, please with all your heavenly might, help my poor Ovid in time of need find his one and only true master. Let me be able to find him without my Daddy yelling at me and without him ever knowing. In Jesus name, Amen.” It was a silent prayer that I repeated to myself throughout the whole day; during recess, lunch time, and in between bath-room breaks. Little did I know that my prayer would not be answered.

I remember discovering that I had lost my poor two and a half-inch, five ounce, best friend Ovid, the night before. It was well into my bed time hours: fifteen after ten at night, and I was still franticly on my knees searching around my bedroom floor for any signs of an almond-sized fuzz ball with miniature owl eyes. I remember being on my knees with just my reading light, sliding on the floor, using the light to catch of glimpse of anything remotely close to Ovid‘s features. From one wall to another, I had searched until there was no more might in my internal system. I felt exhausted, sweat dripping from the tip of my nose with beads of water trickling down my thin, pale neck. Tomorrow I would find Ovid and Daddy would never know. Daddy’s promise would still be kept: the promise that I would never, ever in a million years lose Ovid, for I was a responsible child who had received wisdom from Almighty God.

I remember waking up that same morning, ready and determined to conquer the day with boldness, for it was the day Ovid would be safely found and in my hands. But that day unfortunately didn’t come. I remember coming back home and roaming around the house looking for Ovid. Thirty minutes after searching, I remember spilling buckets of my tear-drops with a burden of emotional distressed toppling over the edge of my shoulders. My head was being pounded by a thousand hammers, creating pictures of circles and twirl-like shapes in my mind. I remember thinking “this is the worst day ever, Ovid’s gone and now Dad’s gonna kill me.” I remember crying, while trying to quietly tiptoe into my room. As soon as I had shut the door and laid into my comfortable bed, the door swung wide open, revealing me to face my dad. To my surprise, my Dad had a soft expression on his face with a concerned look in his eyes. I remember him asking me if I was okay because he had known that I had lost Ovid the day before, he was the one who had accidentally killed him by setting up a mouse trap near his living space. I remember being upset with red flames, then bursting into more tears. I remember crying by his side, while he softly whispered “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.“ I remember realizing that Dads were just people, they would make mistakes and fail sometimes, but they would always be there for their children. I remember the very next day, my Dad had left a hamster drawing of Ovid in my lunch box. To this day, I still have that picture, for Ovid, and for my Dad.

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