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Plastic Kiddie Pools

Plastic kiddie pools always bring nasty memories…
 
When I was a little girl, I remember wanting to swim in one. My sister and I were staying the weekend with our father and his new wife and we asked for one. His wife said no, but they bought her son one. My father had his own room and we slept on the floor next to dead roaches. I remember getting dropped off one day and he never came back. I didn’t see him again until I was in high school.
 
With all of those years gone and the distance between us, I started to grow hate for him. He wasn’t there for any of my school achievements. He wasn’t there when I was sick, or to make me laugh when I was sad. Neither to protect me from my abuser. I convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough. As I got older, it got worse. I was sure that everyone was better off without me because I was positive that my own dad was doing better away from me. I watched my cousins with a father who would move mountains for them and my hate grew stronger. My father died a few years ago. He never got to meet his daughter, nor would we ever get to mend our relationship.
 
At 19 years old, I met the Lord. The Father to the fatherless. Father to the orphans and have experienced an unconditional love that doesn’t stop—a love that doesn’t walk away. A love that will never reject. A love that pierced my heart and shows me over and over again that I was never alone. He knows my struggle with trust. He knows my struggle being open with people. He knows my struggle with mental health and still he calls me his daughter whom He Loves. I spent my childhood wanting my dad. As a teenager, I spent years hating my dad. Now I know I have a Father who cares dearly for me.
 
Jackie Melgares