A vision of the first chapter of a children' book. Identity is important.
| My eyes blinked several times as I read, Dear Madam, I am sorry to report the death of your father. My hands shook when I turned to stare at my Dad , pen waving in the air, puzzling over today's crossword. "Dad?" "Hmmm?" Now the pen tapped against his head and his brow furrowed. "Uh, nothing. I just like to hear the sound of your voice." Dad raised his head to shoot me one of his dazzling smiles. I grinned back. Whoa, where had these tremors come from? Wait, never mind that, who had sent this letter? And I admit my grasp of formal language isn't the best, but as I understood it madam means an older woman, right? I didn't want to go there, but these few ominous words tumbled in my brain and poked my old doubts awake. I glanced again at the man pushing his eyeglasses back up even though they had not slipped and sipping a mug of steaming coffee. This figure is my father. How many times had he stopped what he'd been doing to listen to me? Hadn't he answered my gazillion questions? "Dad, am I adopted?" "What? No. Why would you ask that?" "Well, you and Mom have blonde hair. Look at me, I'm dark." "I can't explain that. You're an anomaly, a beautiful anomaly." "You mean weird. I'm weird." "No, you're unique, special. Wait, wait, I've got it! Your Nan had black hair. You didn't know her then, but trust me, she hasn't always been grey." "Really?What about my size? You and Mom are both taller than me. I'm a runt." "That's a bit harsh. I'm not so sure you've finished growing, you could spurt up. Maybe it's your two short grandmothers." "You mean my height-impaired grandmas." "Haha, yes, but at least you tower over them." "Most of us do. What about my eyes then? You're blue-eyed, Mom's brown-eyed, and I'm what? Sorta hazel? Greenish?" "That's your gene pool. Your mother and I had no control over that. "You are youer than you." Who said that? Dr. Seuss?" "I think so." "There, do you feel better? You're part of this family, sweetie." I must admit Dad's explanations had made me feel better. They sounded reasonable. He sounded believable. Now this letter, this thin piece of paper with sharp words, pierced my heart. All the festering doubts oozed out and hissed. I shivered and stifled a sob. Is your parent telling the truth? What is he hiding? Is Mom in on it, too? Maybe you were kidnapped. It does happen. I stood up, squared my shoulders, and swallowed the lump in my throat. Striding past Dad, the crumpled letter in my back pocket rustled. "Where you going? Got plans?" I nodded and cleared my throat. "Research." (463 words ) ( NOTE: I used the prompt I'd submitted to The Prompt Me Contest. I altered it a bit and thought of this story.)