W. A. R.

I haven't seen him in 7 years, 4 months, and 11 days. Alive anyway - if you could call it that.

I just had the overwhelming desire to have breakfast with him. I have great memories of him at breakfast time, when he was usually at his best; before he had time to start drinking again. But, so many times that were good were had while sitting across a grimy diner table in a booth with split vinyl seats drinking coffee that he would claim was "squeezed out of a mop" or would "put hair on your chest". He usually wore a trucker hat perched precariously on top of his greasy comb over and I'd talk with him while looking into his blue eyes--incredibly blue--or at his nicotine stained teeth. He was so skinny but could put away a good sized breakfast and plenty of that godforsaken coffee. I felt special at those times. Like he really did care. I never wanted it to end, but it always did. He always left and became someone I hated later in the day.

I cry now. Hot tears for a man I loved and hated just as passionately. I'd do just about anything to have my breakfast dad back. I miss him terribly.