Yes, this is real from my past, and I write about it to unburden myself.
Non-fiction / Daddy's Hands
There is an old country song titled “Daddy’s Hands” that I listened to growing up. It is a sorrowful tune about the harsh love of a father, much like every tune I sang to myself at the time. I remember the first time I heard that song, sitting in the front of my own father’s pick-up, the smell of the fertilizer plant where he worked clung to everything, cloying the air…
A thin, gangly child with mousy brown hair and an over bite sat in the front cab of the rusted pick-up, head down and mouth shut. Her brothers were playing next to her on the seat, squishing her arm into the door, but she dared not make a peep. Daddy didn’t like girls who talked back, or had opinions, or asked for books, or came into his sight. Slowly, filtering through the din of the boys, the girl began to hear a slow country song on the radio:
“…Daddy’s hands weren’t always gentle / but I’ve come to understand / there was always love / in daddy’s hands…” A slow tear falls down her face, which she hastily wipes on the sleeve of her faded sweatshirt. When she laid her arm back on her lap, it happened.
“I TOLD YOU TO F---ING SIT STILL SO F---ING SIT STILL OR I’LL BEAT THE S--T OUT OF YOU!” He doesn’t turn his head, and he doesn’t look at the frightened and mournful little girl. She knows he won’t swing at her this time, because the boys are in the way. Her father never hits them, because he says that, “At least they had the decency to come out the right sex!”
She listens to the song and cries, wishing she could be anywhere other than inside her own body. This is a broken little girl, growing up much too quickly, and who now has only one hope in her fragile body – that maybe there is some love somewhere in her daddy’s hands.
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lupi reviewed Version 1 -
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claudianizia reviewed Version 1 -
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allycat135 reviewed Version 1 -
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I think the main problem you have is the switch of perspective. The first paragraph is told from your point of view and the rest is told in the third person. I would pick one, but because this is a non-fiction piece, I personally might just stick with the first person because it is your story. One thing you did well was integrate the song in the story. Because you did this so well, I think that it might not be necessary to begin the piece the way you did—in a sort of essayistic fashion that names the song rather mechanically. Perhaps if we just get your reflections and impressions of your father and then “hear” the song while it is on, the way you have it written, instead of it getting introduced like a thesis. Good luck revising
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cursorblock reviewed Version 1 -
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I think that while this is a quick piece, it’s very powerful nonetheless. Showing the suffering this girl is going through while all she wants is acceptance brings out the sadness in this. I hope this is fiction and not from your real past. If the latter, I hope you now know how wrong he was for being that way.
A nicely powerful scene well portrayed. I look forward to more of your work. Take care.
teaddub reviewed Version 1 -
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I usually start with a discusion of how well the writer has followed the conventions of written English. In that department you have done very well, except with word choice. The word cloying is used incorrectly here. A scent may be cloying, but it can not be “cloying the air”. Following is Webster’s definition of cloy:
Main Entry: cloy
Pronunciation: ‘kloi
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English, to hinder, lame, alteration of acloyen to harm, maim, modification of Anglo-French encloer to nail, prick a horse with a nail in shoeing, from Medieval Latin inclavare, from Latin in + clavus nail
transitive verb : to surfeit with an excess usually of something originally pleasing
Nice job woth the rest of the story. You used description a little too sparingly, but not too bad. You have left out, however, the defining quality of most creative nonfictio: personal reflection. I wold like to see this expanded to include more description of the little girls life and surroundings, you did well to include scent in you descriptions, continue to appeal to all of your reader senses. Give us a little more about how this life may have damaged the little girl, or how it was ultimately for her good, whichever is the case. Show your reader how you feel about this.
I see this as being an important anti-abuse piece. I would like to see you expand this. PLease let me know if you ever do!
Equibabe611 reviewed Version 1 -
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I gave you full credit for this piece. Probably because it reminds me so much of myself. I have a father who was burdened with 3 girls instead of boys. He calls us his boys and makes us work just as hard as if we were boys. I was bring in fire wood at the age of four and takin out the trash too. The song Daddys Hands holds the same sentimental value. Recently a song called “I Loved Her First” came out on the radio by a band called Heartland. I felt a lot of anger toward the girls who could play this song at their wedding because I dont have that kind of relationship with my father to play it. I like this, its like a memory that so many of us girls/woman have… hope to see more like it.
pph reviewed Version 1 -
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Touching and heartfelt work. I would enjoy a short story by this author with country themes. Brave, compelling and honest. I want to read more! pph
TimeTrader reviewed Version 1 -
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A sensitive description of the hurt a child can feel when treated this way. It is well done and illustrates how much a father can emotionally affect a child. You are using the third person to tell the story and then switch to the thoughts of the girlfirst person POV) which the narrator cannot know. The narrator can imagine what she is thinking. Or the girl could speak the words herself. You could write this into a short story and it would be a powerful one.
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