LOVE IS LOVE, NARRATIVE ARC WRITING COMPETITION

As a Little Girl, I Thought My Father was the Only Man for Me

My First Love

We both loved daisies. Photo credit: Catherine Oceano, author

“He sweeps her hair back from her ears; he swings her above his head. He says she is his émerveillement. He says he will never leave her, not in a million years.” — Anthony Doerr, All The Light We Cannot See

The character from the book quoted above is Daniel and he adored his daughter Marie. Like Daniel, my father loved me richly, and deeply. There was never any doubt. Lucky me.

My father was my touchstone growing up, a constant, warm, and reliable force in my life. Born when he was almost 40, the fourth to arrive after a seven-year gap, I was apparently an afterthought. My mother once said the product of a rugby game afterparty. Carelessness with the condoms in a semi-drunken state, conceived in lust and laughter. It could be worse. By the time I arrived, they loved me anyway.

I was petted and played with, picked up, and carried about by older siblings and my mother and father.

And my dad was different from those of his generation. Ahead of his time in so many ways.

He was my first love. I imagined I could marry him one day. In my eyes he was perfect. He held my hand, tied my shoes…