I
saw an athletic man at the beach
Playing
keep-a-way with his two little daughters by
Holding
a small football high in the air.
Like
moths flying around him, they tried to get at it.
Determined,
they tugged at him with pleading more than strength.
The
little one, four or five, pulling on his shirt,
The
older girl, maybe seven, jumping at his outstretched arm.
He
didn’t give in, they didn’t give up.
They
screamed their intentions, but he
Just
back-peddled like a quarterback making them chase him.
No
matter how hard they tried,
He
kept the prize beyond their reach.
This
went on for a frustrating amount of afternoon.
I
was sure he’d finally reward the girls giving them the ball and their gold medal,
But
no, he held on to it until they finally lost interest,
Then
with an Olympic smile, their aggrandizing dad dropped it to the ground.
He
didn’t hit nor yell at them, but I thought he was cruel none-the-less.
What
lesson was he trying to teach them? Never
give up.
I
doubt it. What lesson were they most likely
learning?
He’s a man, bigger and stronger. We can’t win.
As
I walked away feeling sympathy for the girls, scorn for their father,
I
wondered, will some future boyfriend
Strike
a resonant chord in one of their unarmed hearts
When
he refuses to yield and acts the bastard.
