Dance with My Father
Rachel Burden
Professor Almas
English 131
9 September. 2012
Dance with My Father
Dear Lord,
“I know that I’m asking for too much, but could you send back the only man that I trust?”
These are the words that I pray every night before I go to bed. When I was a child, my daddy would come home from work and I would run up to him and jump into his arms. He would spin me around until I got dizzy to the point where I couldn’t even walk straight. Every time my mother and I would disagree, I would go to my daddy to get my way. I always got my way with him because I was his little Sweet Pea. Sometimes he would kiss me on my forehead and tell me that I need to listen to what my mother said.
I remember one Christmas morning. When I woke up, I went into the front room. You might expect that I had gotten a whole bunch of girly toys, but, I had every boy toy you could think of, except for action figures. The one thing that caught my eye though, out of all the other stuff, was my red and black go-cart with yellow paw print stickers. I was so excited and couldn’t wait until I could drive it around, even though I was only six years old and didn’t know how to drive. My daddy would take me to the park every weekend and teach me how to drive my go-cart. Time spent with my daddy was priceless. I knew for sure that I was loved because he was always there for me. He never left me stranded looking for that father-daughter relationship.
April 14, 2002 was the day of my daddy’s death. The night my mother and I had to rush my daddy to the hospital was scary. I didn’t know what was going on. My mother was crying and I was just worried. I didn’t know what to think. When we arrived to the hospital, the doctors took my daddy to the E.R and immediately started running tests on him. I remember sitting in the waiting room for hours and hours. The doctors finally came out and told my mother that my daddy was going to have to stay overnight and that we should go home, get some rest,
Professor Almas
English 131
9 September. 2012
Dance with My Father
Dear Lord,
“I know that I’m asking for too much, but could you send back the only man that I trust?”
These are the words that I pray every night before I go to bed. When I was a child, my daddy would come home from work and I would run up to him and jump into his arms. He would spin me around until I got dizzy to the point where I couldn’t even walk straight. Every time my mother and I would disagree, I would go to my daddy to get my way. I always got my way with him because I was his little Sweet Pea. Sometimes he would kiss me on my forehead and tell me that I need to listen to what my mother said.
I remember one Christmas morning. When I woke up, I went into the front room. You might expect that I had gotten a whole bunch of girly toys, but, I had every boy toy you could think of, except for action figures. The one thing that caught my eye though, out of all the other stuff, was my red and black go-cart with yellow paw print stickers. I was so excited and couldn’t wait until I could drive it around, even though I was only six years old and didn’t know how to drive. My daddy would take me to the park every weekend and teach me how to drive my go-cart. Time spent with my daddy was priceless. I knew for sure that I was loved because he was always there for me. He never left me stranded looking for that father-daughter relationship.
April 14, 2002 was the day of my daddy’s death. The night my mother and I had to rush my daddy to the hospital was scary. I didn’t know what was going on. My mother was crying and I was just worried. I didn’t know what to think. When we arrived to the hospital, the doctors took my daddy to the E.R and immediately started running tests on him. I remember sitting in the waiting room for hours and hours. The doctors finally came out and told my mother that my daddy was going to have to stay overnight and that we should go home, get some rest,