Bottom left corner crumpled
Pink scribbles across the page
A strawberry smudge from snack time
And a thumb-sized hole in the middle
From scribbling too hard
I hand it to him, saying, “Daddy, look!”
And he calls it, “A work of art.”
Twirling and dancing and tripping on stage
Red face, wide eyes, and a puffy tutu.
I walk toward him, asking, “Daddy, how was I?”
And he says, “Beautiful.”
Screech and squeak and song
As I try to play “Merrily We Roll Along,”
With clammy fingers on violin.
I look up, asking, “Did you like it, Dad?”
And he says, “I loved it.”
Hair slicked back in a ponytail
Shin guards on sweaty legs
And a disappointed expression
From a lost game.
He calls me “A champion.”
Red dress that stops just above the knee
Lipstick smudged and eyes red
Hair falling out of a bun
From trying too hard
I approach him, saying, “Dad, I’m sorry,”
And he says, “Sweety, I love you.”
As I wrote this poem, I thought of the people who don’t have a dad to turn to. The people who can’t run to their father and say, “Dad, look” or “Dad, please help me.” Because of that, I was hesitant to share this piece.
I know the statement I’m about to make won’t erase the hurt, but dads are just sinful humans who make mistakes. However, we have a perfect Heavenly Father who loves us unconditionally. He sees our mess and mistakes, and He loves us anyway. I hope this poem reminds you of that love and encourages you.
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