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Morning Pancakes

By: Mariam R.

1st · High School Writing (2019)

It was a Sunday, my dad made pancakes in the kitchen while I sat watching cartoons in the living room, our regular weekend ritual. Nothing was out of the ordinary, although looking back had my six year old self been more perceptive I would have noticed something off about my dad. I remember him as man that shared his joy with the world, and wishing only for me to be happy. But in caring for me, he forgot to care for himself. Time was relentless, it took away his kind eyes and replaced them with a sorrowful look.

For a while it had only been him and I, the best duo I could think of. He treated me like a princess and gave me all my little heart desired, I became accustomed to this. Being a single dad he had to work day and night to keep his little princess satisfied. So on that seemingly normal Sunday it would only appear natural that he spent his time in the kitchen making my favorite breakfast food.

As I sat in my special chair ready to enjoy my maple soaked meal, I noticed he wasn’t eating. It then struck me that he had gotten much thinner, and looked pale. He was sick. But this wasn’t the type of sickness that could be cured by any medicine, no matter how effective it claims to be. It was a sickness that only love could heal. So I stood up and walked towards him, and in a single movement stretched my arms out to hug him. That day I saw my father cry, that day will forever be dear to me, as I realized dad needs his little girl, just as much I need him.

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