Father’s Day didn’t come this year. Or perhaps it came & went.
Though I don’t think I’d recognize it anyway. Or maybe I’m just thinking of you. I find myself asking, “When was the last time? When did I last know him?” The bitter truth is maybe I never did. Suddenly it feels like you’re just another face in the crowd.
Maybe you remembered the man you didn’t have to be all those years ago.
I remember piggy back rides and turning you into a horse. Take your daughter to work day – ones that resulted in me taking a fair portion of your tips. Werewolf masks and ‘Child’s Play’. Banging pots at midnight and hairy chicken cutlets. Be My Valentine. New York City and The Nutcracker at Christmas. Getting my belly button pierced and easing the pain with sunburn. Road trips to Connecticut. Summer vacations in Wildwood Crest. Late afternoon lunch dates.
I learned long ago to mask my hurt in rage because it’s easier than dealing with the truth…
These are the memories I’m left with…
forgotten; left behind; ignored.
Maybe one day you’ll remember me. . .
© Gina Jenkins 