Random Shortstories

As I was standing in the kitchen

As I was standing in the kitchen, or better showing off my good spirits that had just randomly flood over me that evening, I did not expect anything as touching as it was to happen to me.
So I had just finished filming a very stupid little video of myself, dancing and singing around to this amazing Disney song "The frigate that flies", acting out Captain Hook's part and just having the time of my life for absolutely no reason at all, when I heard my father approach.
I immediately stopped the music and was a little annoyed when he stumbled in, quite drunk, because I didn't want to be interrupted having fun with my absolute childishness. So I grabbed my plate, since I was in the kitchen to make myself some food in the first place, and sat down at the table to eat quickly and go back to my room afterwards.
My father was just standing there, looking away from me, doing nothing.
He often mumbles things when he is standing around being drunk. So I didn't really pay attention when he first started saying that he was sad. I actually just expected some boring dad joke, as he often begins them with "I'm feeling sad or upset" for whatever reason. Usually he just says something insignificant, thinking it was the most hilarious joke the world has ever heard, which to be honest sometimes it is, but not this time.
He repeated it. Severeal times. So finally I did pay attention. The first association I had was that there might be something wrong with my grandma, because it was the only thing that seemed to possibly be able to trigger this rare emotion of sadness in my father. And by rare I mean rare. I didn't even see him cry once, when his father died, so what was it now, that was actually making him admit that he was sad?
He slowly turned his head, looked at me and smiled. He just stood there smiling. But not his usual drunk idiot kind of smile, but more of a real, genuine, but deeply hurt smile. He walked over and set down next to me, still just looking and smiling at me.
"I am so glad to have you. I am just so happy about you being my daughter." He whispered, smiling at his hands now.
This was something I have never ever in my whole life heard my father say to me.
Emotional interaction between him and myself were somewhat limited. They were so rare, that I just behaved like a complete unempathetic asshole and said nothing.
We remained silent. Pondering silence.
"Do you remember Marcel?" he asked without looking up from his hands.
"No" I responded focusing way to hard on my rice.
"Our old neighbour. He used to walk home with me, sometimes with you even, from our pub. He always wanted to become a police officer, but every time we walked up the hill at night he would kick against every streetlantern to shut down the light" he said, laughing unconvincingly whilst doing so.
"Oh yeah I see who you mean" I said, even more focused on not focusing on my father.
"His daughter just died."
Silence.
I dared looking up, and for the first time in my life I saw my father cry. Not only his eyes welling up with tears (wich would be a first as well) but literally just him braking down, bawling his eyes out, sobbing like a toddler.
I hugged him somewhat awkwardly, since this doesn't usually happen. ("This" meaning showing emotional support)
"I just can't see how it is fair to rob an eight week old child of it's life. How is this fair?"
"Who says it has to be?" I asked.
"How can this man be robbed of the purest gift you can recieve in life? How could god take his daughter away from him, isn't he supposed to be good?"
"Who says he is?" I asked.
"Every night I look at this electronical frame" (which he continually describes as stupid wasted of electricity) "and look at all these pictures. It seems to me that we have spent our whole life in Bibione.(he laughed) I look at those times where I could still walk. Where we could climb mountains in Austria and explore beaches in Italy. And every time I become aware of what has become of myself and I get upset about it, but thinking of who you are, I just get washed over with this huge wave of proudness and grattitude."
"Aww", I answered awkwardly, playing with my rice which seemed to have gained more and more of my intereset while my father held his monologue.
"I don't understand, why he isn't allowed to see that. To see how his daughter grows up to be this beautiful, lovley and incredibly talented, eloquent, smart and insanely charming human being. How she becomes a person that is superior to him in every level he could possibly imagine."
I said nothing.
"Honestly, I am just so greatful that you are alive.
I don't have a Christmas present for you by the way, but it's enough for me that you exist."
"Dad, that's not how it works. That would be my excuse for not having a present." I answered playfully reproachful.
"Oh right, well than you'll have all right to be angry at me for not having a present."
"I won't. But only if you wrap yourself in wrapping paper so I can see that your existence is the gift"