Fathers and daugters.

 It’s cold today. I can barely feel my toes. I don’t mind the cold, as the sweltering heat was becoming a bit of a drag. And it finally rained, torrents and torrents of rain pelting down on the roof. I slept really well.

When I was in primary school I rode a bike to school. Mostly I just pushed it uphill. What can I say? I was a pudgey kid. I still remember it vividly. It was completely pink, the pedals, the handle bars. I loved that bike even if it was a bitch to peddle. Not at all like a mountain bike. Which my sister wisely chose when my dad loaded us into the car to go bike shopping. (As I said before, my younger sister Patty is adopted, and she wasn’t staying with us yet)

One day I stayed behind after school. I can’t remember why. And I also can’t remember why my sister, Elizma wasn’t with me. She could have gone on to high school but I’m not sure.

Now before I go on I should say we always walked or rode our bikes to and from school. There weren’t any busses and my parents never picked us up. My dad being a policeman and my mother has been working since forever. We usually got home to a maid that looked after us until the ‘rents came home.

So back to what I wanted to write. I stayed late after school. When I got to where my bike was everyone else had gone. My pink bike stood to one side, still chained to the metal poles where the front wheel rested. The whole area was fenced off, so there was one door where all the kids that rode bikes could go in and out. This whole area was also a way from all the classes, next to the rugby field. As I got to my bike I put my school bag on my carrier, fastened it with the straps and I heard voices, laughter. I looked around to see two older boys coming into the bike storage area. I didn’t think much of it at first but what were they doing there? Only my bike was left. They immediately started taunting me. I can’t remember what they were saying. They were tugging at my school bag, my bike, trying to tug it out of my hand. I was always a pretty loud kid but I just clamped up and I was so scared! This seemed to go on for hours but it was probably just a few minutes. I didn’t think they would really do anything to me but I kept thinking, how am I going to get out of here? They’re bigger than me.

I can’t remeber everything that happened. I do remember my dad coming around the corner, walking in big strides. The tide of relief that washed over me. And also a little confusion. My dad never got us from school? The boys then saw my dad (who looks a little intimidating I have to add) and it seemed like they dissapeared into thin air. I do realise they just started running for the proverbial hills. I was crying. My dad didn’t say anything. Just hugged me and took my bike and started pushing it towards the school exit. I was sniffling all the way. Not quite sure what happened and how I was supposed to react. My mom was waiting outside in the car. A little angry that I got off school so late. I was still crying. I can’t remember what I told her. I can’t remember what my dad told her.

The only image of that incident, the one that seems like it’s tattooed into my memory is that of my dad coming around the corner looking fierce.

In my mind I have two dads. The one I was afraid of. The one I would hide from when I heard raised voices and loud crashes. And that dad. The one that ’saved’ me, the one that makes me want to be a little girl forever just so I can feel his huge arms hug me close. The dad that made me stand on his feet as we ‘danced’ and will always be as big as a mountain in my mind.

Not quite sure what brought this memory on. It makes me shudder, thinking what could have happened had he not showed up. I feel sad as I write it. Maybe it’s the weather?

Fathers rarely realise the impact they have on their daughters lives. So take note. We’ll always remember.

~ by sleepyjane on March 14, 2008.