Knights

Once upon a time,
I believed in a Knight in Shining Armor.

He was hardworking, strong, bold and brave.
He would scrape ice off the car in cold, wintry mornings,

Before he set off to work, that magical realm of
Fiscal earnings, that I could not see for myself.

I remember this Knight,
How he told me stories and guided my steps,
Until I was sure of them myself.

He was magical, musical, and played the guitar
Like a bard out of legend.

He could draw with such likeness to put any artist
To shame. Such detail, you could tell what it was,
He was sketching.

He could take apart any object, and put it back together,
As though he had done so for years. In fact, he told me
He had.

He told me the story of his first bicycle, he had
Dug pieces for it out of the trash bins, and fashioned it
Magically, out of spare parts.

Truly a genius.
A Leonardo Da Vinci reborn.

It didn't matter what stories he told me,
Or what adults would tell me later was true and what wasn't.

What mattered to me, was that my Knight was my hero.
The first man in my life.

He was my teacher, mentor and guide.
He made me Believe.

After all, he was my Daddy.
And I was his girl. His likeness.

Then in a poof of painful events and memories
I would one day hope to forget,
My Knight in Shining Armor went away.

No more could he fight my battles
and slay my evil monsters,
For he had his own.

I lost my belief in anyone rescuing me.
I had to battle the nightmares alone.

The closet monsters to the gossip mongers.
The rejection of my peers,
to the abusive relationships to come.

From bad customers, to office politics, to lost promotions.
I had to don my own unstoppable armor.

I was no longer Daddy's squire in training,
his princess tomboy; treeclimber.
I became my own Knight in Shining Armor.

I rescued myself, with the hope of rescuing others.
I would not be beaten, nor would I be cowed by anything
thrown my way as a challenge.

I would always land on my feet, like a cat. 
"I would show them!,"
became my battle cry.

I would fashion carboreturs out of rebuild kits,
I would scrape my own ice off my windows.

I would go everyday and bust my rump, in the magical land
Of fiscal responsibility, and pay for my own castle.

The tempered steel of my reserve and willpower,
Matched only by my determination
to make things happen.

The men in my life were treated as kings,
and I was their champion.

I did their laundry,
I cooked their meals.

I cleaned our castles, and
Bore their children.

My children.
My angels I had to give away.

No medals of courage,
no valorous attempts to win my unflagging love.

No diamond rings presented,
no nuptial contracts or licenses to sign.

I gave freely, and was taken from freely.
Given little, but an "I love you," in return.

My self worth was reduced to nothingness.
Failures and tension, and untold drama, by
All concerned. It led to my demise.

I could not draw, as my Knight could.
I could only draw with words on paper.

I could not play a song on a guitar,
nor carry a tune to save my life.

My gift was of the written word,
I soon learned, and I wrote a book.

Finished with my task,
I set forth with new tasks and challenges.

Constantly bettering myself, fighting,
not just to stay alive, but to really live.

To breathe.
To have that magical endeavor of freedom.

My dream is an almost.
My goals and endeavors an almost.

I can smell the dream of
Reaching those stars
he once told me about long ago.

If I could only touch them in time,
to call him back.

To share the glory of my journeys
and tales of my battles.

My highs and lows,
good times of revelry
and bad times of great need.

To ask him questions that went unanswered.

Of the things little girls have
Always wanted to ask their Daddy,
but was not sure of the questions yet.

Part of me remains ten-years-old,
yet now I am a grown woman in my thirties.

I'm battle weary, and I need respite.
My armor dented and tattered.

For twenty years I have carried it,
never letting down my guard completely.

Part of me wants to reunite with my hero,
and take off my armor.

The other part wants him to help me
repair and reforge my armor and weapons.

Yet another part of me simply wants
to hold to him tightly, and never let go,

Crying and sobbing out
my twenty years of sorrow and separation.

I ache to hear four little words,
missing from my youth and upbringing:
"I'm proud of you!"

I will always love my Daddy, my hero, my Knight.
Listening to his heart: XOXO