Chapter 2:Dear Old Dad

Christmas Eve and my dad come rushing in, talking to my mom, He was about just as excited as I was.
That night he had a big, gray winter jacket, dark blue jeans, big, black boots, and a stupid hat that made me smile, on. His green eyes were glowing and he had a bristly black beard. I remember a lot about that night.
I was seven years old at the time, playing with my few toys right before they became outdated. My dad was whispering to my mom and all she kept saying was “Im not sure Luke, he might be too young.” But he insisted hat I’d love it. He got on his knees, eye level for me and spoke to me.
“Son”, he started, “what I’m about to give you is for big boys, but I think you’re ready for it.” I smiled. “What im about to give you is a portal to a completely different world, a world where anything from your mind can be created. But the first thing you need to enter is this.”
He handed me a pencil, but I had used those in school. So I thought that it had some kind of magic that made it different. So I had started waving the pencil like a wand, waiting for the magic to happen. “Daddy, something’s wrong”, I whined. “No son, you’re just missing something.” He kept me going. He went behind the couch and pulled it out- a huge leather-bound sketchpad which had my names letters square by square with stickers.
Dear old Dad- you were always so specific.
But I had no idea what was inside, I just knew my name was on it, so my favce lit up, I opened it and found… nothing.
No words no pictures, no portals j.
“son this is a sketchbook.” He started but I zoned out. Being a 7 year old who didn’t understand what a metaphor was, surely I was pissed. “Daddy, you lied to me!” I interrupted. “There’s no magic, there’s othing. Daddy, you’re a liar and I hate you!”
I threw his pencil to the floor and marched away. My dad just picked up the pencil, and let his head drop, eyes starting to tear up. My mom sent me to my room and went to help my dad.
Dear old Dad, I didn’t mean any of that, I’m sorry.
My mom came in and told me I hurt Daddy’s feelings and he spent a lot on that present for me. I still remember how his face sunk and his eyes dilated when I yelled at him. But nonetheless I came out and said “I’m sorry and that I didn’t hate him then I kissed him on the forehead like he did whenever I cried,. H e half smiled through the sadness and said, “Its okay son, you’re just to little for it.”
And after that we slept and had Christmas. I got showered with presents that year, but don’t remember anything other than that sketchpad. I took it for granted, but now worshipped it.
I still remember the details, down to my dads fuzzy, blue slippers to his robe to that night when we all went to sleep. A good Christmas, I smiled and slept in between my mom an dad, but when I woke up, my dad wasn’t breathing.
Dear old Dad, your heart was too big for this world.
I never asked my mom why his heard stopped because I figured I didn’t need to know. But what I did do was pick up that sketchpad and started drawing. And last year on Christmas Eve, I remembered you dad, and drew you with oil pastels. I gave the picture a glassy finish with clear acrylic spray-paints and I keep it in my sketchpad. I’ve never been so grateful for something and I just wanted to say thanks.
Dear old Dad, I’m missing you to death.