This a very short and sweet story depicting how things might have gone if my father had been able to understand me when I was growing up and trying to figure myself out. It's exactly 100 words long. I remember there had been a specific name for stories this short, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it is now.
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My father pulled the lacy strap of the nightgown he had caught me wearing back onto my shoulder, then stroked the top of my head. "Son, it's okay. I understand how these kinds of things happen."
"If I don’t understand what’s going on with me,” I thought, “how could you? How could anyone?”
I wanted to ask so many questions, but the words caught in my throat. All I could do was hang my head and hope Dad wouldn't see my tears. It was then I noticed the frilly hem peeking out from the bottom of his old, threadbare robe.