Father's Hands

Writing prompt from First Drafts

My father used to hold my hand.

Don't believe me? I can prove it. I have a picture. See, here. I'm wearing my red velvet, special holiday dress. I'm smiling, so is he, my right hand in his left. He's quite handsome, don't you think? I used to think I was ugly, but looking at the picture now, I can see why people said I was a cute kid.

I don't remember when it was taken. It looks like at an office Christmas party or something. See the door and window? Looks like Christmas cards on the ledge. We're all dressed up, so it must have been a special occasion. Funny, I remember the dress, but not the occasion.

It's the only one I have of me and him, at least from childhood. We didn't spend much time together back then. But maybe I'm remembering it all wrong. I didn't remember the picture-taking, did I? Maybe we did lots of things together and I just don't remember.

Anyways, I'm glad I have this picture.