WHY DO DADDIES LEAVE&;#063;

A lock of his black hair fell across his blue eyes, as Charles sat
on the steps to the two story wooden framed house he had lived in since
birth. His younger brother, David played with his trucks in the grass
just a few feet from him. There was little grass left in the spot where
David played and the running of his truck back and forth caused the
dust from the dirt to fly up and be caught by the wind to blow in
Charles face. That along with David's constant chatter irritated
Charles. He was straining his ears to hear the argument that was once
again taking place behind the screen door of their house.

"Cut it out, David," Charles had growled at his brother. Charles was
six and thought himself to be quite the man. At least he had taken on
the role of boss to his younger brother, since their father had left
when he was four and David was three. "I am trying to hear what they
were saying."

David laughed and continued running his truck along the roadway he had
paved in the yard. Charles was always grumpy when their dad came to
visit, not that he came around that often. David was always glad for
the new toy. This morning he had brought him this shiny red dump truck
and David had fallen in love with it. He would rather play in the dirt
with the truck than sit in an ice cream shop and listen to his daddy
talk anyways.

Charles had put his shiny blue truck down after only minutes of looking
at it. "Thanks, Dad." He said as he went to hug the man he so missed.
His father made but a feeble attempt to hug him back.

"Where are we going? How long can you stay? Let me show you my
homework," the sentences poured out of Charles' mouth before his father
could even answer. The hunger for his daddy to embrace him shone in his
eyes, echoed in his words and cried from his heart.

"Charles, calm down will you? I can only stay a minute here, been real
busy, son and I got to talk to your mom," his dad said.

"Besides I got you and brother new trucks, right?" he said as he went
through the screen door.

Charles had learned not to cry. A scowl crossed his face and he sat
himself on the steps. All his friends had dads who came home every
night. They would play ball or wrestle with their sons. Sometimes his
friends got in trouble and their dads yelled at them. Charles would
have been glad to even have a dad to yell at him.

He had heard the arguing begin almost as soon as his father had gone
through the door.
He knew his dad would soon come stomping from the house and leave with
barely a word to his sons. Charles was as mad as he was miserable.
There was so much he wanted to show his dad. His science project had
won a blue ribbon. He had a box of his schoolwork hidden under his bed,
hoping his dad would come and he could bring it all out and his dad
would be so happy that he would visit every week.

Charles knew full well that today would not be the day. The arguing
inside would rob him of any chance to win his dad's love today. With
each harsh word that drifted to his ears, Charles' own anger was fed.
As his brother, David erected piles of dirt in the yard to run his
truck through; Charles built walls around his heart to hide the tears
he stored there.

A slight brush against his small shoulder had Charles reaching back and
slapping at it.
He was so consumed in his anger he did not see the heavenly man which
sat beside him, his hand coming to rest upon the young boy's shoulder
to comfort him. A tear trickled down the angel's face.

With the door slamming behind him and the last of his mother's angry
outburst echoing through the door, Charles turned to see his dad
stomping towards the steps. "Dad?" Charles questioned timidly. "Can I
go with you?"

"Not today, son. Got things to do. See you," his father replied, his
voice softening just a bit, as he continued by his eldest son.

"See you, David."

"Bye dad," David called back.

David returned to his trucks and Charles got up from the steps and
headed towards his room. He knew his mother would be crying. Charles
used to go and hug her and tell her not to cry. Today he was as mad at
her as he was his dad. The door to his room seemed to stick and Charles
banged on it until it flew open.

Pulling his treasures from underneath his bed, Charles sat looking at
his all his accomplishments. Seeing how his hard work had paid off made
him feel good. "I don't need them anyways," he mumbled. "Look at what I
can do all by myself."

Charles' angel sat next to him. The angel remembered the time when
Charles would sit and talk to him. His tiny face lit with excitement
and his smile reaching to his blue eyes. The innocence of his youth
allowing him to talk with the angel God had so carefully chosen to walk
through life with him. Today, Charles had even blocked from his heart
and memory these times. He scoffed at attending church and found
reasons to avoid anything that may break through the walls he built.
Rejection from his father's embrace and heart had already allowed
Charles' anger to be his motivator.

Again the angel attempted to bring hope and comfort to his young charge
and he laid his hands gently upon Charles' back. And once again,
Charles turned in annoyance towards the touch, slapping at the unseen
hands. So angry was Charles, he did not let the love of his heavenly
Father touch his spirit. The angel knew it would be many years of
carrying his charge before his spirit would finally seek the
Truth.

Though Charles did not know it then, all of heaven heard when his anger
burst from his lips and he yelled, "Why do daddies leave?"