Simple Gifts
Our Father Who Art in Heaven
his Father's shoe polish,
a mostly unused artifact, was
the alpha and omega
of His gifts that
he actually wanted to keep.
he bought more to use, but his Father's,
he kept on the shelf where he keeps all of his favorite things: a
small box of rocks he collected in 2013, a
tiny nutcracker, an
empty vial of perfume that still carries a hint of his mother's scent, a
single, holographic charizard pokemon card, and
cremains in a small bottle mixed with seeds from a forget-me-not.
the Father had given him gifts before, but
the Father didn't know what to give a daughter; therefore, the daughter never really considered what he did give as gifts. He gave so much to His sons, that by the time the daughter came along, He had nothing left.
the tv told Him daughters like soft dolls and colorful makeup, not
hard action figures, fishing rods, and pocket knives,
like His sons;
but the secret His daughter kept from Him and everyone else for so long was that he felt more like a little boy, and truly just wanted the things that the Father gave his brothers.
he thought he could appreciate the Father's thought (because he was told that was what counted), but it hurt that the Father knew so little about him.
he thought that maybe the Father should know his secret without him having to tell.
he thought he could signal his displeasure with small acts of rebellion:
tying bottle rockets to barbies and setting them off in the yard,
using the makeup he was given and covering his body in "war paint,"
stealing his brothers' air soft guns and shooting the Father in the face with tiny plastic pellets.
the message was never received, though.
in time, the daughter grew into the man he wanted to be without the Father's help.
he aged, he got hired and fired, he married, he grieved and felt joy, he made plans and fell through, he committed and recanted. he was fully human, and people loved him dearly for it.
he had never known whether the Father felt love for him, but he began to think it possible, as the
shoe polish wormed its way into memory, as if it had been there all along.
*
*
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is a work of fiction and not about my father, who is an excellent father that has given me a hell of a lot more than shoe polish in my life <3
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
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Comments (3)
kp, even though it is a work of fiction, it is beautifully and masterfully done! Bravo. I am going to highlight this of Vocal Social Society on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/groups/376191867241324)
This broke my heart in such a beautiful but profound way. He gave so much to his sons... Oh the whole build up to this moment really hits hard. How precious. The daughters feelings are. Absolutely precious. How important they are to be listened to. Should know his secret without him having to tell. That would be such a powerful moment for healing... If only... The father knew without... This one lingered Katelyn. Gosh I loved it so much. In my depressed state right now. I needed something warm to read. Someone to channel some love and care to. And you provide the character, you provided your masterpiece and you provided yourself. This is oh so lovely. My mood has been lifted, even if it's just for this moment. 🤗❤️
Great piece. So glad your father gave you more support than the father of your poem <3