Hallelujah Saturday: Day Of Broken Promises
Sabado is Saturday in portuguese.
Nani: Daddy, look look! Can I get it someday?
Dad: Yeah. Sabado.
Nani: Really?
My sister is obviously more excited than she's ever been.
Dad: Yeah. Sabado de Hallelujah.
And my sister's promise is shattered.
Today marks the day my dad said he'd get my sister what she wanted when she was a little kid. Everytime she asked, he'd not only deny her, he'd insult her. Sure, it was a joke. To him. She always remembered.
She texted me from Brazil asking me what dad's cell number is. They don't keep in contact much.
I gave it to her.
He should be crying right now like he was last year.
Why?
He made a promise he couldn't keep.
Like the same promise twenty-one years ago at the altar with my mother.
A promise he couldn't keep.
To have and to hold, from that day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do them part.
Hallelujah Saturday holds many sorrows.
~AA
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