Pushing it open i softly whispered his name he was

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followed the noise to my son’s room, and found the door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, I softly whispered his name. He was lying in bed facing the door; his pillow was soaked with his tears. I asked him what was wrong. He tried to wipe his eyes, to hide his tears from me. I came closer, sat at the foot of his bed. I asked again what was wrong. I laid my hand on his leg, he seemed surprised. I told him he could tell me what was wrong; I was his father after all. He struggled to regain composure, and eventually managed to choke out that he was afraid. I asked what he was afraid of; I asked if it was monsters under the bed, or a bump in the closet. He shook his head; he said he was afraid I didn't love him, that I hated him. I sat in silence for a moment; my son thought I hated him, I had no idea. I grabbed him, I pulled him close, I hugged him, and I embraced him. I love you Bradley, don't ever doubt that; he started to cry into my shoulder. I felt the moisture through my shirt. The feeling was so...human...satisfying. I resolved then to be a better father to be a better man, I would not be the man that ignored his son’s cries anymore. I would not be the man that caused his cries. I would change my life. November 12 th 2011
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I woke up today and decided I needed to spend the day with my family. My wife and son were eating breakfast when I entered the kitchen. They eyed my warily when I entered the room, and I wondered had they always looked at me that way, but it did not matter it was all going to change now; a new life for me and my family. Who wants to go to the movies I asked. My family looked surprised; I had forbade all forms of media entertainment from the home sometime ago. What movie would we see; she seemed suspicious, as if I had some trap planned. Whatever young Bradley would like to see I said as I tousled his hair. He squirmed uneasily, I don't think there are any book adaptations out dad, he responded. I told him it didn't matter; we would see whatever movie he wanted to watch. Today I saw Toy Story 3. I had not seen Toy Story 1 or 2 but Bradley assured me I would be able to keep up with the narrative and I trusted him. I was glad I did. When the toys were being lowered towards the fire I cried, when after they escaped their doom their owned gave them away to a younger child I cried harder. I thought of my father, how he beat me so savagely when he caught me playing with army men. Scholars do not play with toys he told me after he put his belt back on; he was right I never played with toys again. In the darkness with tears running down my face I clutched my wife's hand. She looked at me like I was a stranger. I put my arm around her and pulled her close, she smiled, I forgot how ravishingly beautiful she was. On the way home we got ice cream, my family laughed, they seemed happy. I laughed, I was happy.
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  • Spring '11
  • Benavides
  • Nazi death machine, poor Jewish family, pitiful weakness, Bradley Sharp

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