by Rebecca Blades

Created on: December 19, 2006   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

I was six. Papa was in the den. I could see him from my position at the kitchen table. He was smoking a pipe and listening to "The Mills Brothers"
on his Hi-Fi. The aroma of cherry tobacco reached out with smoky tendril arms and embraced me. I sipped my hot chocolate and nibbled on my toast.

A pounding at the door! I saw my papa startle at the intrusion. He pulled himself up out of his recliner and headed toward the door. He stopped two strides away from me and smiled.

"I love you like nobody's business", he said as he closed the gap and embraced me. I felt his workman's hands upon my shoulders. "Me too Papa."

He proceeded to the door. Police. Handcuffs. Tears. A social worker
came to stand beside me, staking her claim.

I never say Papa again.

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