But that is only half of my feelings. Because half of my feelings go out to the kids. Pity, pity and more pity. Especially when Malachy the father left for England to work. He left with a promise of sending money to his family, but up to this point, they haven't gotten anything and I feel and I fear that they wouldn't get anything at all.
In the middle of all these, Frankie finally expressed his feelings. He said he know when his father has done bad things. I know that young as he is, he does know these things. But I felt sad with how he felt towards his father, bad as his father was.
"He lights the fire and makes the tea and sings to himself or reads the paper to me in a whisper that won't wake up the rest of the family. Mikey Malloy stole Cuchulain, the Angel on the Seventh Step is gone someplace else, but my father in the morning is still mine."I wish there is a way I can tell Malachy his father about how Frankie felt; about how much he love his father, after all those things that he had done and didn't do.
Initially, I felt like questioning Frankie about how he felt about his father. But who am I to do so? I grew up with a father that is far different from his; in an environment more convenient that his, and in a life that is way more comfortable than how he lived. So, who am I to question his feelings towards his father?
But, still, I feel sad about all these. How I wish I could sit down with Malachy his father and tell him how his kid feels about him. How I wish I could tell him how lucky he is to have a child like Frankie, who loves him in spite of. But I could only with and write it down here.
Then, I begin to wonder. Frankie is still lucky tho have a father.
How many children whose wish would only be to have a father? A father like Malachy who builds fire in the morning to make their tea and read the paper.
A father even if it's just in the morning.