A Father's Gift

My father taught me how to dance.

no, not that one, the other one.

the one that left.

the one who decided I wasn't worth it anymore

He took me to every father-daughter dance,

every single event.

When I was small he let me dance on his toes

he'd spin me around the room

as I got older he taught me how to do it on my own.

We jived and waltzed and flipped

those were my favorite nights.

My father taught me how to work.

No not that one, the other one

the one that left

The one who decided I wasn't worth the extra work

Everything he had, he got himself,

He wouldn't take handouts

It wasn't worth having if he couldn't get it

himself.

He took pride in his work

he showed me how to as well.

My father showed me how to break.

No not that one-

Though I suppose that one did too,

The other one.

The one who reached his breaking point long before I did

He used to hold me while I cried,

wiped away the tears from another father,

Showed me that fathers and dads were not always interchangeable

Then he gave me his own kind of fatherly heartache.

My father taught me how to heal.

That one, the first one

The one who left first

The one who came back.

And he did come back, apologized.

made himself available

and I love him for it

I do, really.

but a childhood of sorrow is not washed away so easily.

I am healed by one

hurting by another.

My fathers have taught me a lot.