We don't always understand when were young that our parent might not be "normal". My dad never thought of himself as disabled-although he was. I never thought of my dad as disfigured-although he was. He was my dad. A good and excellent person. A true hero and a brave and hardworking soul.
Your Daddy’s a Monster
"Your daddy's a monster," my friend said.
I didn't know what she could mean.
So I asked, "What you mean?" "He scares me. His face…"
"Naw... he's not a monster. He's just my dad! Do you think some'm wrong?"
As I still don't know what she could be talking about.
So later I asked him, "Daddy are you a monster?""What's that?" He bends his good ear towards me as he picks me up and sits me on his lap. I talk pretty fast and its hard to read my lips but I think he does it for ME cause he knows I like to rub my hands on his whiskers. He has a special name for them he told me once. He calls them " shadow… Cause they come home with me from work!" He said laughing. I repeat myself again,"Nat wants to know if you're a monster?" I'm patting his cheeks they feel like a scrubby and he smells as usual of Old Spice, sweat & saw-dust.
He's always been dad and He knows I don't get it. He replaces my hand on his cheek and explains he's very special cause he's wired with gold and has plates inside his face; as he traces the scars with the tips of both our fingers up the side of his face, he tells me the tale of before I was born and the day he (almost) died thrown out onto the wing of that old airplane.