The Price of Happiness

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.

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