Parenthood

Sometimes I feel weakest when he’s being kind. My father is not afraid to say ‘I love you.’ He is tender. But no softness can hide his judgement: I am not who he is, or what he wants. It is love in spite of me.

He is so much bigger than I. A man, with all the right muscles and hair and that loud voice that yells my name. I am not intimidated: I quip, mock, sometimes shout. We laugh together. But his mass is always pushing mine away, always just that bit larger and heavier.