I was four years old and playing in my Flintstone car at my Grandma Sue's house when I heard a knock at the door; a man came in and Grandma introduced him as my father. I was happy and he picked me up and played with me but he left sooner than I wanted... I watched him leave, my dad rode a motor cycle... he was so cool. I never saw or heard from him again but it was on the top of my "things to do list." I even went as far as to be bad so that mom would send me away to live with him... it was a constant verbal "threat." When I was 14 my mother came in and told me that he died in a car accident in Idaho... that was it, a piece of me died too. I flew from Oklahoma to the funeral to meet my father. I walked into the sanctuary alone and looked into the coffin. I finally saw the man I had dreamed about. I took the oppertunity to tell him about my life and I even bitchced him out a little. I took his stitched-together, makeup-caked, hand and held it for a little bit then gave him a really long hug and pretended, for a moment, that it wasn't good-bye. I had on a pretty silver chain; I looked at it one last time and made an empty wish before I put it in his shirt pocket. That was as close to my fathers heart as I was ever going to get and I wanted a part of me to stay there forever.