I've been thinking about my father lately.
He was not a great parent. He was selfish in too many ways. He did some horrible things, and I won't glorify him just because he's gone. But he's the only father I had.
One of my favorite memories of my Dad came back to me today. When I was growing up, I lived in a house, not a home. It wasn't warm and inviting. Everything had to be perfect at all times, even me. The house had to be kept pristine. In the formal dining room and living room, there was plush white carpet. It was so thick that I could easily see my footprints when I walked on it. But we were never allowed to step there, or God forbid we sit on that furniture.
One evening, when my mother was out, Dad allowed my little sister and I to run around on that carpet. He let us mess it all up with chaotic marks and toe prints everywhere. I danced, I twirled, and I did cartwheels. My Dad even ran a couple loops with us and acted silly. I remember feeling so happy at that moment, so free. Then he sent us to get ready for bed while he got out the vacuum to place all the carpet back into the perfect position.
It was our little secret for weeks. ♡
