Father Day Stories Novels & Stories

"Whether he mistreats her or not isn't proven by what he says. It's proven by what he has done over the last five years." That person froze. The entire office fell dead silent. The teacher looked at me as if she wanted to ask me something, but she ultimately kept it to herself and placed my withdrawal application at the corner of her desk. I turned on my heel and left the office. The school corridor stretched out ahead of me. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, creating a checkered pattern of light and dark across the linoleum floor. When I walked past the Wall of Fame, I caught the photograph prominently displayed in the center. My father, Ian Smith, stood to one side while his stepso

I said, waiting for the part where he asks for something in return. "Well, I'm doing this because bigger boss kissed my wife and claimed it was an accident which was definitely a lie," he replied in reference to father. This wasn't the first of its kind, father committed a lot of atrocities and always got away with it. I was really surprised he wasn't holding it against me. "You've been a good person, generally and to me personally so I plan to help make the people believe your story," he continued. I was lost for words, I had no idea what he was referring to. "What story?"

"It was my father's gun. He used it during his first date with my mother when he blew another guy's head off—they had a rocky start." "Ouch," Bob grimaces band does nothing to hide his discomfort. My story must sound crazy to him. "What did the other guy do to piss him off?" Laughter finds me—this memory is my favorite one that my father has let me see when I've touched his palm. "They laid their hands on my mother against her will."

I vaguely remembered a conversation I had with my father after I first heard of King Theodore’s love story from my mother. I had felt indignant that he mistreated his mates and marched right into my father’s office unannounced. Father had been in the middle of some important paperwork and seemed annoyed and confused when I barged in and walked straight up to him, blood boiling in my veins. Back then, my temper had been a blazing fire, much to the dismay of my parents, but I couldn’t put it out easily. Before Father could utter a word, I repeated what I’d learned and asked why he would support a king like that.

The class fell silent, unable to catch the last word. “-zhn, dear! Try like me! -zhn!” “-zzhn…” “Yes! Now say uh-kay-zhn occasion!” “Uh-kay-zhn occasion!” “Yes, very good! Now let me tell you it’s Father’s Day tomorrow and we celebrate this day on the 18th of June, okay?” “Yes, mam!” “Yes! You all love your papa, right? He earns for you, he does hard work! He protects you, and he buys you gifts at festivals, right?”

I held Rome harder. “Mommy, can you tell me about dad again.” Where did I even begin? The tragic story of his father and I. “Your father had a hard life growing up.” I said, Rome staring at me with his big golden eyes. He had heard this story a few times. I wanted him to know he had a father just like all kids but talking about it was difficult. “But he grew up strong despite all the hardships he came across.”

“I grew up on a farm with my father only. My mother had passed away before I was old enough to remember anything. But he told me how much she loved his made-up stories, and it was one of the things she loved about him. So, every year on her birthday, my father would take me to her grave site, and he would read one of his fictional stories.” He was quiet as I spoke. “Sometimes he would even have me help him construct a new story to read to her grave. They were usually about farm animals,” I said, getting lost in these memories. “So, you used to write farm fiction?” Joseph asked and for a moment, I swear I heard humor in his tone. Like he wanted to laugh, but he remained respectful. “Yes,” I c

“Please don't tell him it's a cardigan I made for him.” I nodded even though I wouldn't have known if she hadn't mentioned it. As I drove, it occurred to me that today was father's day. I hadn't even known until I opened the store in the morning. It was Sherry, the woman who owned the kid's toy store just opposite my store who told me. “My father loves letters so I mailed him a handwritten note telling him how much he meant to me.” Sherry had said in the morning. “Has he seen it? I'm sure he loved it,” I said, trying to match her energy which was always high.

I can not hear it very clear but there are some instances that he yawn after talking. "I can not sleep," I answered him shortly. With that sentences, my father already knows what to do. Just like what he is doing when I was still a young girl, he tell me great bed time stories then later on sing for me to sleep. This time, he said to me the story about a girl who is always looking in the positive side of each story even if her life is full of mess. "Father?" I called his attention after he finished the story. [Yes?]

Aaron complimented. “Please, you don't have to lie. Daddy never liked that I wasn't interested in the family's business." Maya huffed, her voice tinged with sadness. Aaron wanted to correct the young lady that her father was, in fact, very happy that she chose her own path and wouldn't stop telling anyone who cared to listen that his daughter was smart, but he held his tongue. He hoped that a different day and a better time would surface for that. “Ah, I should go.” The man said, rocking his heels as he stared at his watch.