A Daughter’s Journey

Often in the afternoons my father will open a cabinet, and with his gnarled index finger trail the spines of binders filled with catalogued DVDs until he finds one he wants to share with me that day. He’ll slip on magnifying goggles so he can see, headphones so he can hear, and insert his choice into the DVD player. He plops into his timeworn recliner with an anticipatory sigh and points the remote to start our adventure. I arrange the pillows on the corner divan to make a nest and settle in. Papa looks over to make sure I’m delighted. I smile and nod. He wiggles his bottom into the chair and nods back, satisfied.

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