Not like you

I awkwardly walked towards my father, shifting my weight from one leg to the other.

Right, left, right, left, right, left.

“Daddy can I go to the party?”

He glanced towards me, his posture threatening, his brows scowled with the rage of a thousand suns, yet his voice was soft, reassuring and could even be considered gleeful. “No son, I’m sorry but today is the anniversary of your grandfathers death. We’re visiting his grave.” 

I got annoyed by his answer and started stamping around, wailing that I didn’t want to go. After all, having fun with my living breathing friend was more important than crying over someone who didn’t know nor care about it. Father seemed to hold back a tear, but I didn’t care, I just wanted to play with my friends. After shooting a sad faced glance at my dad for the last time, I ran up to my room. I threw pillows around, broke toys and screamt at my door, all out of pure spite that I couldn’t go to my friends birthday. I looked upon the wreckage I had sought, satisfied with the result. That would show dad that I can do whatever I want.

Why had dad not cared about my tantrum? I destroyed my room to make a point, but it seemed to gloss over his head. He drove the car without emotion, staring blankly out the front window. Mum was by his side, dressed all in black. The contrast between my superman shirt and my parents near black dresses was blinding. It felt like dad had been driving for at least 10 hours. 

“Mummy, how far could a graveyard be?” She didn’t answer me.

“Can we be home in time for Davie’s party?” Once again, no answer. I screamed at the top of my lungs, shouting that I didn’t care about grampa, that he was dead and visiting him was pointless, that all I wanted to do was play with my friends. I still wonder why they don’t respond to me. Mum let out a sob, but I didn’t care, I wanted to play. Dad held back a tear, but I didn’t care, I wanted to play. 

Mum had to drag me out the car, but as soon as my feet touched the ground I was up and away. I ran around the graveyard, flexing my legs. I needed to stretch after what felt like a 7 hour journey. I jumped on and off sidewalks, I ran off to random graves to look at names of the deceased. Eventually I tired out and dragged myself over to dad. They were both crying over grampa’s grave. I felt a bit sad, but nothing too overwhelming. Out of courtesy, I picked up flowers someone had left somewhere back a couple plots, and placed them on grampa’s resting place. Mum leaned over to me and kissed me on my forehead, and whispered ‘Thank you.’ 

We got back in the car and started to drive back home. I asked whether I could now go to Davie’s party. I had been good. I liked to think I had behaved well. “But dad I left flowers!” My dad sighed and replied.

“I know, and you did good, but out of respect I think it’s best you stay at home and do your prayers today.” I grimaced at the word ‘prayers’. How pointless. What good would talking to no-one do for the dead. They wouldn’t hear you, nor come back. Pointless. I started screaming and crying again, begging mummy to tell dad to take me to Davie’s house. After multiple refusals, I snapped and yelled that I hated him a hundred times over. 

We finally got home after 50 minutes of my screaming. I ran to my room and slammed the door shut in protest. I cleared my bed of broken toys, broken picture frames and torn pillows. I threw my self onto the bare mattress and closed my eyes. It took me no longer than a minute to fall deep into sleep. 

I was awoken an eon later by the sound of our car starting up. I checked my broken alarm clock. I could barely make out that it wrote 01:23. It was nothing out the ordinary for my dad to leave this late at night, but this time I decided to look at what was happening. I carefully pushed open my door, careful not to make a squeak as mother woke to the slightest of sounds. How she didn’t hear the car surprised me. 

The garage door was heavier than most, so I had to lean in with all of my body weight to manage to open it. There was an unfamiliar scent in the garage air, but I nodded it away. My dad had fallen asleep at the front wheel, how silly of him. I loved my silly dad even if he did annoy me at times. He probably wanted to sleep in the warmth of the cars heaters rather than our house. We had never been able to afford a heater, so I couldn’t blame him at all. I longingly yearned for his warm embrace, I wanted to wake him and hug him. I wanted to remind him I loved him. I tapped on the glass window of the car. “Daddy?”

It had been 23 years since that day. Today, I sit in my recliner, across from the fireplace, picture frame in hand. I miss my dad. I wish I could’ve been better to him back then. But today, I have a family, and I devote my life to providing for them. My son walks up to my chair, slightly limping. “Hey dad, can I go to Jonathan’s party?” I feel dread inside. It’s going to happen to me as well. Powering through my emotions, I reply. “Sure son, but remember, today is the day your grampa passed. If you want, you can come with me to give your respects.” He slightly smiles from the corner of his mouth. “Sure dad, I’d like that.”