Simple Gifts

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