A Story My Father Told Me

by: Onofre Pagsanghan

I must have been six when I fell from Peter Pan, the horse. I still remember how much my right arm hurt after the impact. And I still remember how I ran to Daddy and started crying. It was the end of the world.

And Daddy knew what to do. With one of Mommy's scarves, he made a sling for my broken arm. And with some of his beautiful stories, he made a sling for my broken dreams. I sat on his lap as he told me about people who were strong. People who had the courage to go on living with broken arms or broken legs. And then he told me his most beautiful story.

Last night I fell from a different horse. This time, though, it was not my arm that got broken. It was my heart. I was sixteen but like a little girl of six, I went crying to Daddy. It was the end of the world. And Daddy knew what to do. With tissue paper, he dried my eyes. I sat on his lap and he started telling me those beautiful stories once again. He told me about people who were strong. People who still saw beauty in life in spite of broken promises and crushed sandcastles. And then he told me that one magic story.

Many people tell me that I'm strong. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not at all. I only know that I believe Daddy's magic story. And I know too, that Daddy will always be there. Daddy who has fallen from many horses. Daddy who has survived. Daddy who is strong. And Daddy who loves me. Daddy will always be there to tell that magic story... in case I forget.



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