Some days, my daughter seems to really love me. Other days, she can't stand the sight of me. At least, that's how I feel. I guess that's the nature of father/daughter relationships. I make up the rules, and she resents me for making up the rules.
Saint Marty is looking forward to being proud of his little girl tonight.
by: Natasha Trethewey
Like the moon that night, my father —
a distant body, white and luminous.
How small I was back then,
looking up as if from dark earth.
Distant, his body white and luminous,
my father stood in the doorway.
Looking up as if from dark earth,
I saw him outlined in a scrim of light.
My father stood in the doorway
as if to watch over me as I dreamed.
When I saw him outlined — a scrim of light —
he was already waning, turning to go.
Once, he watched over me as I dreamed.
How small I was. Back then,
he was already turning to go, waninglike the moon that night — my father.