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I was ten when my father first sent me flowers.
I had been taking ballet lessons for four months, and the school was giving its
yearly performance. As a member of the beginners' chorus group, I was surprised
to hear my name called out at the end of the show along with the leading
dancers and to find my arms full of red roses. I can still feel myself standing
on that stage, seeing my father's big smiles.
Those roses were the first of many bunches
accompanying all the milestones in my life. Getting all those roses was
wonderful, but they brought a sense of embarrassment. I enjoyed them, but I
also felt they were too much for my small achievements.
Not for my father. He did everything in a big
way. Once, when mother told him I needed a new party dress, he brought home a
dozen. His behavior often left us without money for other more important
things. Sometimes I would be angry with him.
Then came my 16th birthday. It was not a happy
occasion. I was fat and had no boyfriend. And my well-meaning father furthered
my suffering by giving me a party. As I entered the dining room, there on the
table next to my cake was a huge bunch of flowers, bigger than any before.
I wanted to hide. Now everyone would think my
father had sent flowers because I had no boyfriend to do it. Sweet 16, and I
felt like crying. But my best friend, Jenny, whispered, "Boy, you're lucky
to have a father like that."
I was ten when my father first sent me flowers.
I had been taking ballet lessons for four months, and the school was giving its
yearly performance. As a member of the beginners' chorus group, I was surprised
to hear my name called out at the end of the show along with the leading
dancers and to find my arms full of red roses. I can still feel myself standing
on that stage, seeing my father's big smiles.
Those roses were the first of many bunches
accompanying all the milestones in my life. Getting all those roses was
wonderful, but they brought a sense of embarrassment. I enjoyed them, but I
also felt they were too much for my small achievements.
Not for my father. He did everything in a big
way. Once, when mother told him I needed a new party dress, he brought home a
dozen. His behavior often left us without money for other more important
things. Sometimes I would be angry with him.
Then came my 16th birthday. It was not a happy
occasion. I was fat and had no boyfriend. And my well-meaning father furthered
my suffering by giving me a party. As I entered the dining room, there on the
table next to my cake was a huge bunch of flowers, bigger than any before.
I wanted to hide. Now everyone would think my
father had sent flowers because I had no boyfriend to do it. Sweet 16, and I
felt like crying. But my best friend, Jenny, whispered, "Boy, you're lucky
to have a father like that."
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