My Father
A man of 5 foot 11 inches, fair skin, not too athletic looking, a man who has the parental name of father. I remember intently of the time my dad accidentally broke my collar bone. One day when I was in third grade we were playing outside just tossing around a tennis ball.l I be-bopped around the green prickly grass tickling my bare little feet with every step I take. It was me, my brother, my friend and my dad. My brother threw the neon yellow carpet feeling spherical ball. I went to chase the ball as it landed on the grassy platform of our yard. I looked back as I saw my non-athletic dad chasing after me. He picked up my frail little 8 year old body. He tickled my skin and set me back down on the green needles. Except for he sat me down wrong on my left shoulder and broke my collar bone. I stood up and watched him run down the hill at the front of our white house still carrying the tennis ball. I tried to take a step but then stopped because of the jolting pain going through my shoulder. As I walk in pain over to the sidewalk, I hear my dad and brother laughing. Then they heard me crying. As I continue to cry, I could taste my tears, all wet and salty. I will always remember that day, not only because of the pain I went through, but also the love my dad nourished me with while in my pain.
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