“My Dad Used to Tell Stories” Fiction. Based on a True Family Meeting.

“I don’t see the point of having parents if you can’t be open with them and it really does have a very negative impression on my life… it’s like, you’re my parents, I just want to know you, I just want to feel close, connected.” – Kera Armendariz

“My Dad Used to Tell Stories”

Fiction. Based on a True Family Meeting.

by Nikki Wicz

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

My dad used to tell stories.

I don’t remember when they stopped,
I just remember asking for one
And he had none
To tell me.

He was once a man that sung
Along to old rock
With the doors taken off his jeep.

A man that burnt his lap
With a cigarette
He tried to throw out the moon roof.

He was the man who never
Seemed to feel more than
Anger and sarcasm
Until he found out
I was suffering
From depression
And for a moment
He had compassion.

But I fear the man
He will become
If he finds out
I like women.

He told me a story once
That went like this,
“don’t talk to me
About sexuality, it makes me
uncomfortable.”

This was at the last
Family meeting. Before I
Moved out, my brother
Following close behind.

We were never whole,
But we’ll never be together
Like we were then:

Open, wounded, and vulnerable.

We told our parents that day
Through tears,
That we were not Christians.

And my father,
The storyteller,
Would tell it a little differently,
That his offspring
Were heathens that they chose
To forgive, I guess.

But my father, the storyteller,
Who I take after,
Has never heard
A story
Of mine.

Leave a Reply

Write a comment