My father is a gazelle, and he floats on water. Correction. He walks on grass like he’s walking on water. He doesn’t just walk, he glides, each step taking him farther from me and closer to an unseen goal. He’s discovered the mystery behind Jesus’ methods and I don’t think faith is behind it. My father’s no holy figure, but everyday he turns water into Kool-aid and heals wounds with band-aids. My father may be the only miracle worker I have ever known. My daddy is a magician. One time he showed me the great disappearing trick. 15 years later, I’m still waiting for him to come back.
But from farther down the road I can hear him calling to me. “Sissy, you can walk on water, too.”
And so I take my first steps, tentative at first, and then firm and unfailing, knowing that I will not fall. And I yell back to him, unsure of whether or not he can hear me, but eager to tell the world anyways.
I walk on grass like I’m walking on water, each step is taking me a bit farther down this road called life, and closer to my goal with each step that I make, a stereotype I break. Most people tell me that I will never make it, well, excuse me, but please explain my success, tell me, did I fake it? I’m just following these footsteps in the grass, and when I get scared I hold my own hands, because uh. Sometimes you have to be there for yourself, after all, sometimes no friends show up when the rest of the world walks out. I’ve remained strong in spirit and I’ve done it on my own, excuse me daddy, but I’ve got to walk on my own road.
I hope he understands, because I am his daughter, but I am not his choice. I do not embody every decision he has ever made, because I make my own.