I'm so pleased, this month, to be hosting K. Syrah! I don't read many social commentary blogs (they're a little too biased for me), but K. has one I've been gladly following for a long time, now. Be sure to check it out. I'm certain her bit of writing from our photo inspired topic (how cool is that) will make you want to visit. Now, on to the post.
I’m K. Syrah, I blog at Shoes Never Worn, and this is a story about a Dad and his little girl.
He watched her grow up, in tiny shoes, and tiny socks, with floral dresses and mismatched little caps on golden curls. He remembered tying her hair up into little pigtails, combing the ringlets and ticking her under her arms until she squealed and giggled with delight.
He lifted her up, propping her on his shoulders when the Christmas parade came into town, just so she could see over the heads of the on-lookers. Her little gently hands wrapped around his forehead as she laughed she pointed and gawked at the fat man in red, with his wavy white beard.
Then came the day when she didn’t need him to do her hair, to tie her shoes, or to put a little bow in her sundress.
She stopped reaching for his hand, and she crossed the road on her own. First looking over her shoulder to see if it was okay, then later, looking straight ahead, because she knew it was okay.
Her little hands were swinging freely at her side, and he watched her grow up tall until the day came that all fathers dread; the day their little girl thrusts her hip to the side, with a stubborn hand on her belt loop, looks at him with defiant eyes.
“As long as you live under this roof, young lady, you’ll obey our rules!”
Then, she wasn’t under his roof anymore and she drifted even further; across the country, to a college dorm room. She’s talking to boys, saying, doing and acting like she can cross the road without him over her shoulder.
But she’s just a kid, in tiny shoes, and golden curls.