That dream began when I was little.
My father left when I was five, and although he occasionally called, he rarely kept his promises.
“Daddy will pick you up Saturday,” he’d say.
I’d get excited, put on my favorite clothes, and sit beside the front window waiting for his car.
Sometimes I waited all afternoon.
He usually never came.
My mother worked long hours to support us, and I watched her struggle to provide everything I needed.
I promised myself that when I grew up, my own children would never have to wonder whether their father cared enough to show up.
One afternoon, when Tony and I were teenagers, he found me crying after another missed visit.
“Still waiting for your dad?” he asked.
I wiped my face.
“Not anymore.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because I don’t understand why he keeps making promises he doesn’t intend to keep.”
