I remember my father as the man I've never truly met. I don't know what his voice sounds like or what his facial features look like in real life. Thirteen years have passed and all I've ever seen were photographs of him. A few months after I was born, the man who would've taught me how to ride a bike and walked me down the aisle, passed away. Sure, it's pitiful that a girl lost her father at such a young age but that's fate.
    

Growing up, I haven't always been the most obedient, diligent, neatest, or smartest child. When I was messy, my mom would always say," I don't know where you get this from. Both your father and I are such neat people." From words like these, I'd learn about the type of person my father was like.
   

Everytime I think of my father, I can't seem to get a grasp on what I would call him. Daddy? Dad? Father? It's just one name. I've always wondered what it's like have one. Sure I've had fatherly figures like the many uncles and my grandpa but it's not so genuine. Who will murder the guy that dates me or breaks my heart? I don't know. A lot of these thoughts would be answered my I don't know. He's the one I want to do those things with. If he was still alive, I'd definitely treasure the time with him.
    

Recently, there was a documentary called 'Coming Home', about a man wrongly convicted for thirteen years. After getting released, he tries to mend the relationship between his stubborn daughter. When I watched it, all I could think of was how I wished that I had a dad and if I was the daughter, I would've have forgiven him. When you're related by blood, it's forever, not something you can just get rid of.
    

Although my father isn't by my side, my life is good, just the way he'd probably want it to be. Thank you to my father for bringing me into this world.