1stmate | [purest of prose] prompt

I remember a time when I still wore diapers, when you were this incredibly tall, incredibly large, incredibly wise figure from my vantage point on the floor. You loomed over me as I banged the brightest red truck on the floor, and you said to me, "Son, you've got to learn to use the wheels." I remember not understanding that last word.

I dreamed, once, that you got down beside me, a god off Mount Olympus, sitting beside his mortal charge to teach a lesson. I dreamed that you took the truck from my hands and set it on the floor, wheels-down, and showed me how to roll it back and forth.

But the memory remains: I put the truck in my mouth, and you made this disappointed sound as you turned to leave.

*

Your handwriting has always been more graceful than Mikhail Baryshnikov's glissade. Mummy bought me tracing paper, once, so I could follow the swoops and dives of your notes. I followed every line dutifully, but it was still no more than a clumsy imitation of elegance.

I still have a shoebox full of the letters you wrote while I was away at college. I can't imagine that anyone would save my missives, much less you. My words jerk unevenly across the page, lurching from one thought to the next without care of transition; they can only dream of flitting as lightly as your tidings.

*

Did you know that I joined the Boy Scouts to make you proud of me? I learned my knots and my fires because that's what a proper man does, and I showed you every badge I earned. I suppose I should have taken the hint when you worked late instead of building my Pine Derby car with me. (Mum was a fair hand with the power tools, as it turned out, but I was the only boy who didn't bring his father to the race. Except for Michael, but everybody knew his father was dead. There was never a chance for him.)

*

I didn't give up on pleasing you, you know. I took your boss's daughter to the prom. I majored in your field when I went to college. I was devoted to the cause.

*

They say it's never too late to show your loved ones who you really are, and at least now I won't be able to see that look of disappointment on your weathered face. I'll have to settle for remembering it, for seeing your disapproval in the angry squawk of a crow, the irritated rustling of a branch. I've known since I was that toddler with a truck that I could never live up to what you wanted of me. It's time I stopped trying.

You see, Dad, I'm happy with who I am. I'm happy with my boyfriend and our toy poodle. I'm happy as a teacher, happier than I ever would have been as an engineer. I'm happy being me - were you ever happy being you?

dedicated to the ridiculous