"Dad, I want you to read me the book," I said, with all the courage I could muster as I looked directly into my father's eyes that were identical to my own.
I've been waiting to say this short sentence to my dad ever since I saw the book's thin, paperback cover crammed between several other larger books on the shelf in our living room. I was nine at the time, which is the age when you realize there is more to a book then illustrations and happy endings.
My dad's not one you would call an author, which basically explains why I was so surprised when I found the book with his name printed on the cover. He looked slightly nervous when I asked him about it, and told me that he wrote it when he was only fourteen years old, and that it was simply about his adventures when he was a teenager.
I then I asked him if I could read it, when he immediately refused and said that the words were too big for me. This infuriated me inside; for I was an avid reader and was constantly looking up new words in the dictionary. I wouldn't take his "no" for an answer, and asked him if he could read it to me. He again shook his head and said that he didn't think I would understand it.
Tears abruptly formed in my eyes, and I was about to run to my room to escape the humiliation and defeat, when suddenly my dad crouched down to my level. I remember his exact words:
"Listen to me Angel. When you turn 13, I promise you with all my heart I will read you that book from cover to cover. No interruptions, no excuses."
"You promise?" I asked, as the dreaded tear slipped down my cheek.
"Promise."
Now, four years later, I look into those same eyes, hoping he meant exactly what he said. We held each other gaze for a few more moments, when for a second I doubted he still remembered that day we made that sacred vow.
That uncertainty instantly disappeared when I saw his eyes crinkle and a smile appear across his mouth as he said, "You think I forgot?"