The Gods Will Fall

July: On FamilyJuly 4I blink. No way. Is that really my dad? Is that really what I think it is in his hand? The thing they’ve taught me never to do—the thing that just killed my grandma down in Florida? No fucking way.But it’s true. There he is, right in front of my eyes, just laughing and sipping and puffing away. I run up to him, ask him what he’s doing—he says something, but I don’t know what he’s saying. Doesn’t really matter, and I ball my hands into fists and start hitting him in the legs before I run out the door into the dark night, looking for . . . what? I haven’t the slightest.But the glass shatters. The veneer peels. The god falls.I turn to see if he’s following me out the door—maybe I’m not looking for anything or anyone else, maybe I just want him to drop the bottle and the butt and follow after me, telling me it’s not what I think, that he was just holding it for a friend. But he doesn’t look back—eyes on the blonde lady, laughing, smoking, drinking.And I begin to wonder what else he does when he thinks I’m not looking, or when I’m not around. This godlike figure who can do no wrong . . . apparently can.Years later, I’ll know it was just a cigarette, but I’ll also know that horrible infections can start with a small scratch, and that one tiny nibble from the wrong bug can kill a great and tall tree.And as I stand there in the dark, I may not realize it right away . . . but from that day on, I’ll never look at my father the same way again.Reflection title: The Gods Will FallCreative inspiration: John Steinbeck, East of EdenReflection Question: Knowing that neither I or my family are perfect—that we are all fallible humans—what will I do with that knowledge? Can I still forgive, even when the veneer has been stripped and the glass has been shattered and the god has fallen?