A Trophy Father's Trophy Son

The love my father expressed to me was explicit but never really penetrated the layer of hurt I had built after my parents divorce. My parents are super mushy-gushy, but I never actually let myself receive the love that was equally reciprocated by both of my extremely loving parents. 

For starters, my father. 

I loved my Dad. That was my best friend, and I was his little girl. But his little girl had gotten her heart broken after her two favorite people decided they couldn't live together anymore. 

It was great after that, he'd pick my sister and I up every other weekend to visit, color with us, let me paint boxes, and even bought me Hannah Montana everything on my eighth birthday; man I loved Hannah Montana. But as time went on, I saw him less, he called less, and his little girl had grown out and grown up. 

"That was the way I had felt for a number of years during my [childhood]" (Manning 144). Time would fly and our relationship simply felt materialistic. Asking me if I'd needed anything when it came to school, or my life at home, but truthfully I just needed him. That was the way he showed his love for me. 

[at the time]. 

As a child, Our trips to Blockbuster, and through the passageway (the backstreet to his apartment... a short cut), they meant so much to me and I felt loved, even when he told me he loved him. Eggo waffles and the time we spent on the couch were the most memorable.  

More time passed, and the heart that broke healed. I loved my dad, and I knew he loved me. It's just that rough patches are rough for a reason... 

He even flew all the way back from living in California to be with his family. Our relationship was better. Could even say it felt new.