Thanks, Dad

Hey stalkers!

This is my "memoir" assignment for school, and I hope you enjoy it! It's not really a memoir, I know, but it's a shortened version of one, so deal with it. Just Kidding, love you guys. Suggestions are welcome!

Without wax,
lonewriter7

~*~*~*~

Thanks, Dad

The headlights shone like a lighthouse, bright and alarming. That was the first time I saw him— tall, muscular, with a skin tone I didn't recognize, he pecked my mother on the cheek. Since I had never met this man before, this confused me, but I didn't ponder too much. He had come with his foreign friends, with a foreign accent, and a foreign way of thinking. I didn't mind. I made friends easily! My grandmother called all the kids to the lit up tree, presents stacked two by two underneath its lowest branches. I searched the boxes for my name, and mother asked the man to help me. He scooped me up in his arms, his hands large enough to fit around my waist.

I found six boxes appointed to me, wrapped in bright colors and put in a neat pile. When we were given the signal, we shredded the paper, colors flying everywhere. Red, yellow, white, and green, they flew across the room. My mind wandered away from the strange man and I grinned at the gifts lying beneath my feet.

“Say thank you,” my mother said. I read the names out loud, and thanked them one by one. I got to a name that I didn't recognize, one I had never heard mentioned before. As I read it aloud, it lingered in my mouth. My mother, her dark straight hair the same as my own, eyes bright, nodded towards the strange man. I flashed him my seven year old grin, and thanked him, settling his nerves as I gave him a warm embrace. Mother, beaming down at us, seemed relieved, although I didn't quite know why.

A couple years later, I’m looking down a bright white aisle. Everyone pulled jackets out of their bags, and food was served on tiny tray tables. The chairs came with pillows, and reclined back into a bed, which I did immediately after sitting in one. The man I met back then sat next to me, giving me and mother a loving smile. A week ago, mother had finally explained that she was now his fiancé, which meant nothing to me. I pressed my face up against the cold window, clouds of fog forming with each breath. Clouds whisked by, and I imagined myself reaching out and touching one or two. My thoughts were elsewhere, hopping over clouds and sliding down rainbows.

The whole time, I was quiet while Mother fussed over our passports, shaking her head every so often. The strange man, who I came to know as Paul, slept beside me, his snores vibrating in my ears. We were starting a journey that would lead us closer together, and I just didn't know it yet. At the time, I never would've thought that he would make such a huge impact on my life, by becoming the man I looked up to.

I’m fourteen now. We've moved again, and I've gotten plenty of homework since then. Mother was in the kitchen, cooking us a family dinner, as she usually did on Fridays like these. I looked up, as I had many times before. He was hunched over his scattered desk, tapping away at a shiny black keyboard. I could see a crease in his forehead, and immediately knew he was deep in concentration. I also heard the low hum that came from his machines, hard at work.

“Knock knock,” I said, tapping on the door. He raised his head and gestured me in. “Hey, could you help me with this?” I showed the sheets of homework I had gotten, and his brow bunched up in the center.

“You have to write a memoir? But, you’re only fourteen! What material can you use, to write about?” he teased. As he read further, he laughed a bit. “Ah, so it’s only seven hundred words. Makes a lot more sense.” I growled and crossed my arms over my chest. He placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned his head close to my ear, “Write about me.” I rolled my eyes and pushed his head away.

“It’s supposed to be about me!” He just smiled, giving me a knowing look, and a light bulb went up in my head. I smiled back, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re a genius. Thanks, Dad.”