Thursday Stories

I have been thinking about making Thursday my story day. This will be my first one. This is my birth father. His name is Pancho. A very fitting name for him. He was a very good looking man. He wore his hair long and he had a very raspy voice. He had tons of personality. If you knew him then you had a nick name . When he came around to visit me my name was Skinny or his fly girl. I can tell exactly how I felt when I heard he was on his way. I felt warm inside. I remember looking at him and loving the resemblance there was between him and I. I felt like I truly belonged and that was a feeling I was not familiar with so I welcomed it with open arms. He hugged me like he missed me so much that in that moment it did not matter how long he was gone for. In this picture are so many of my favorite things. My favorite color is Orange. My favorite car is a Volkswagen van. It had been ever since I would sit in the passenger seat with him as he drove around. He would tell me. Flaca ( skinny in Spanish ) he would say look around . I would look out the van window and then he would say there is magic in the air baby. Where I would say ? He would look at me and say magic is here  because of you.  I believed him. He was an amazing musician he played the guitar and the piano. He sang with this raspy awesome voice. I think about him a-lot when I run. I do not want to forget what few memories I have so I play them over in my head like a broken record . A broken record that never gets old. My favorite thing about him was his hands. When I close my eyes I can see his lovely musical hands and I can often feel them holding mine. Running has helped me heal the wounds left behind by those so close to me that have died. Wounds left because they held such a huge place in my heart that was empty and some how now I can take all the goodness they gave me and just run with it.