A Father Is
He should have been hours of baseball pitches and empty cartons of ice cream,
but he was really hours of screaming matches that I was too young to understand and a few slaps here or there for not wanting to go to bed that early.
He should have been daddy-daughter dates and late night movies,
but he was really daddy dates with his golf clubs and beer and late night arguments that I could hear even under three blankets and two pillows squeezed tightly against my ears.
He should have been a loving husband and someone who truly cared for us,
but he was just loving to himself as he left his wife so depressed and overwhelmed that she raised the kids on her own all while having late night crying sessions on the bathroom floor because it wasn't getting any better and she must never forget the two more hours he works which means she needs to put dinner on the table by herself too and he only cared for the mask he put on and not for the people he was hiding under this mask that covered the pain and fear I buried deep from my first breath.
He should have been a father,
but he was really just a stranger that I was forced to love.
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