Whenever I eat peanut butter it reminds me of the nights you'd come stumbling through the door, home from the bar for the night. Then you'd fall into the kitchen.
I'd wake up to the sound of banging cabinets, and when I'd walk out I'd always see you at our old kitchen table with a spoon in one hand and a jar of jiffy in the other. We'd sit down and eat spoonfuls and laugh and talk, and you'd let me stay up even though it was past my bed time. I was your little girl who looking up to a daddy who as i grew up, I'll soon see wasn't as sweet as he seemed to be.