Tonight after reading about a little girl who was disfigured after a pitbull bit her face and who was refused service at fast food chain Im reminded of a scene with my father....... Once in Coos Bay in the coffee shop near the hotel Dad left me to finish my breakfast while he got up to pay the check at the register. I was probably ten years old at the time. There I was, spreading the last bit of jam on my toast and debating if I wanted to take the empty jam tin with me (they made great Barbie doll dishes) when a woman quickly approached me from the table beside ours and asked me if I was alright. “Uh huh” was probably just how I put it. “Is that man your husband?” she bothered to ask. “No” I said emphasizing her absurd question and pinching my brows together; looking at her as queerly as she had looked at my father. “Um..hes my dad.” I explained. She drew back a bit, but then came forward asking again, “Are you sure you’re okay?” I don’t believe I answered. Instead I departed from my toast and Barbie doll tins and walked very quickly towards my dad. I grabbed the palm of his hand and held it tightly. Something that my father noticed was out of the ordinary. He reassured me by shaking loose of my grip and putting his nub on my shoulder as if to draw me closer and protect me from the world as we walked out of the restaurant together.
Posted on: Wed, 25 Jun 2014 05:39:58 +0000
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