In the Name of the Father

"You can keep the child". He said as he slid his monogrammed leather glove onto his onto his left hand. He gave a small tug and waved his fingers once to check for a snug fit, as if playing all the notes on a saxaphone. Paying more attention to It than to her.

He said without a look at her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small fold of bills, slid one out and dropped it on the table as if he was paying for his last meal. A business transaction.

My little blue eyes peaked out from behind my mother as hid from this man, who Id never met before, but who had her in tears begging him not to leave.

"Why are you doing this?"

"What have i done?" she begged to know.

He said nothing and with no more than a glance he opened the door, took one last large step out the door and was gone.

And just like that. In one moment. In an instant. We had nothing. The only man who had given me everything and nothing all at the same time.

He gave me life. But he gave me no love, no warmth, no kindness, no care. Just the memory of his boots on the wooden floors, and his coins, (leaving us a small handful of peanuts from his professionally tailored silk lined pockets so she could buy a bit of food for herself and "the child") as they fell to the table.

I remember hearing their noises. How funny they sounded to my tiny innocent ears."

"That was my memory of him." The edges curved up slightly in a tiny ironic smile, "That was the day i met my father. The day he left."