Short Story: Living Fatherless

I can tell you one thing: Having a dad, but not being allowed to see him since your mother gave birth to you is much more worse than not having one at all. I never knew what it's like to have a dad since I was an almost fatherless lonely child, but Mom tried her best to raise me well. Nevertheless, I was the unsatisfied type that looks for troubles; I simply got an imaginative father.

Mom was stunned when I introduced her to my imaginative father at first. She called a physician, asked me to gulp a few pills, and kept taking my temperature though I kept yelling I was alright, but she got used to it after a while—depending of course on my own definition of getting used to it-- , for nothing but because she had no other alternative. I, meanwhile, had a splendid time with my imaginative Dad though it never could compensate for my real far away father whose existence I doubted after seven whole years had passed, as I simply couldn't understand how I should handle it.

Believing in a phantom that keeps fading with time was unbearable, let alone, an imaginative phantom that you know nothing about. Mom had no photos of Dad, for our house was burned to the ground when Israeli forces entered our neighborhood. I was a fetus engulfed by misery and war before I saw the world which is somehow unfair since I should have decided my fate! Mom used to tell me stories about Dad, how they got married, and the quarrels they had over naming me, but what I truly yearned for was seeing what he looked like. I created an imaginative father and lied to myself which made accepting dad's arrival all of a sudden a mere dream. But it was not a dream. Dad was coming. I was eleven. Eleven years without a father. Eleven years living with phantoms. Eleven years I waited, reconciled with my reality, and tried to wash longing thoughts away. I cried. I poured out all the longing I kept hidden. Crying wasn't only relieving, but also a sort of expiation. All I knew, all I understood was that Dad was coming. And that for the first time wasn't a dream.

<em>Ghaima, I don't normally correct entries as long as yours, but what you've written is beautiful, especially from the perspective of a father, congratulations.</em>