to glen bron three weeks after fathers day because i suck at doing things on time

when i was little, i would lie in bed and listen to all the sounds of the night. i had all my family members' sounds memorized, a symphony of familiarity. they were all comforting in a way, letting me know that even though i was alone in my room, i was never really alone. i could always tell it was my dad walking down the hall because his knee creaked. back and forth i could hear it as he paced down the hallway, his left knee, the one i sat on when he picked me and my older sister up. when i was sure there were monsters underneath my bed, i would listen for that creak as he went around locking the doors. it was a lullaby that lulled me to sleep at night, a night light for a little girl petrified of the dark. i could always listen for the creak, and it always came.

when i was a bit bigger, id still get scared at night sometimes. sixteen years old, and still having nightmares. id go running into my parents room trembling and half awake. id feel stupid by the time i got there, but my dad would say "its okay shanny." then he would let me sleep at the foot of their bed, like a dog the size of a teenage girl. he would always get up super early to go to work, and i would listen for the sounds of his standard morning routine as he shuffled around the bathroom. he'd pee for a while, then shower, then dig through his ties. every morning, like clockwork, he'd come out with multiple options to ask my mom which one looked best. id always pretend to be asleep, but id be secretly waiting for him to emerge from his cave of suit coats and dress shirts with two different colors of ties, and he always came.

when i was even bigger, i came home from college for christmas break with a bout of whooping cough and broken confidence. my mom had died a little bit ago, and i wasnt dealing very well. i had signed up to go to mexico next semester, but i was a broken woman who couldnt even get out of the house, let alone go help people in rural mexico. i felt defeated and alone. one night i was crying and i needed someone to care more than anything in the world, and then my dad came in. he sat me down and told me we would figure this out together. we kneeled side by side, at the foot of his bed right next to my old spot, and we prayed. a couple of days later, he drove me to the airport, dropped me off with a suitcase and a smile, and told me that i was going to have an incredible experience. i did. i laughed and i loved and i lived and i ate beans, and i learned about myself and about loving other people. i will never be the same. and it was all because when needed my dad, he came.

now i am older, still confused and unsure of what to do with my life, still afraid of the dark, still in need of confidence and reassurance and love, and still scared of the unknown. the foot of my dad's bed is thousands of miles away. my dad has a new wife to tell him which ties look good with which shirts. he has different children to attend to and different mouths to feed. i dont have whooping cough anymore, and hope never to have it again. life is busy and different than it used to be, and i have to act like a grown up. im told they are not afraid of a whole lot. but sometimes when i get scared at night, i can hear the creak of my daddy's knee, and i know he will always come.