Emma Watson, Junior, Journalism, Fort Worth, TX
I used to talk to my father
Have actual conversations, about real life
Over morning coffee and drives to the movies
Bonding over our similarities, like father like daughter
He used to come home by six o’clock for dinner
And we’d eat as a family
By high school he didn’t come home until late
And by then he’d sigh, exhausted, and go to bed
He used to spend all weekend with my mother and I
Watching television, shopping, decorating for the holidays
But eventually he dedicated half of his two days off
To his office, where he cocooned with the long breaths of his laptop
He used to have less wrinkles and fewer grays
He’s grown older, but sadder, smiling less, sighing more
Those sighs of stress, warnings not to bother him anymore
And we began to talk less
Now we force dull conversations when it’s just us two
An awkward head nod, an excuse to leave
My mother calls it a sacrifice, for what we have now, financial stability
I call it a lesson
I never want to grow old like my father.