Rays of the sun broke through the trees lining the streets of Wellington Lane. Some leaves caught the rays, like giant leafy nets, letting their shadows fall across the homes outside my front window. The shadows were unmoving, not until a silver car interrupted their silhouettes. It entered the cobblestone driveway of my home. I leapt away from the giant window in the living room, and flung open the door leading to the garage.

"DAD," I shouted gleefully. "Do ya have it? Do ya have my birthday present?"

The car door opened, the silver paint reflecting a sliver of the sun across the door handle.

"Hey-o, Kiddo," Dad said, his head popping into view, "What do you mean, have a birthday present?" He leaned on the car, work papers in hand.

"Daaaaad! Come on!" I said annoyed, "What did ya get me this year?"

He sighed, "Oh! I can't fool you Zac! Here, hold these," He offered me his work papers, and I took them. Dad then ducked into the car, retrieving my gift. As he took forever (or so it seemed), I glanced down at the papers he had given me.

On top of the pile, a magazine displaying kid's toys lay there. As curious as I was, I skillfully opened the magazine, balancing the thick stack of papers in one hand. The first page exhibited building blocks, and colorful fuzzy plush bunnies, and a bunch of other baby toys that caught no interest from me. I flipped through the pages, letting them blow air into my long, brown hair, until I caught something that seemed worth enough to look at.

Color was stretched across the page. Everything seemed to pop out at my face. At first, I was dazzled, but then I realized what the entire page showed were neon painted slinkies. They were coiled around kid's hands, or stretched up toward the ceiling. Some showed off their ability to glow in the dark, and others had neat little faces printed across their strange, spiral, skeletal structure. Some were several different shapes, while others stood there, displaying their own unique vibrant colors.

Those seem boring, I thought, uninterested. I was about to turn the page, but I noticed Dad pulling away from the car, and bumping his head on its roof. He closed the door, holding a small rectangular box wrapped in thin sheets of bright green paper. Dad advanced toward me rubbing the back of his head.

"Oh! Okay Zac, let's go open this inside." He reached out to grab the mountain of papers from my hand. When I thought he had a tight grip on them, I let go. Apparently Dad hadn't taken hold of them as soon as I thought, and the papers fell in a waterfall of white all over the garage's dirt-mopped floor.

"Uh, Zac," Dad moaned.

I stood alerted, "Sorry! Sorry, sorry." I bent over to help Dad gather in all of the sheets of documents and whatnot. As I was picking each paper up, a particular sticky note buried in the pile caught my eye. I scooped up the papers sitting on top of it. Glancing at Dad, to make sure he was not looking, I lifted the crinkled, yellow post-it note. It read:

Jennifer
Date tonight @ 6:30

What?! I thought alarmed. NO! No, no, no! This can't happen! Nearly all of the documents were collected, so I stood up, letting Dad get the last few. I tucked the note under the pile in my hands and dashed inside.

Quickly, I slapped Dad's papers on the glossy, oak-wood table, and scurried into the living room. I plopped right down on the ivory-white couch. Resting on it, were several fuzzy pillows, as if someone found a yeti and sewed blankets from its fur.

As I waited for Dad, my mind went whirring. Dad, on a date, no, it can't happen! Why would he do that! He can't just leave Mom for someone else! I paused trying not to let the tears come. J-just because Mom is, gone, doesn't mean he can just go on and find someone else, right? Now I was questioning myself.

I rubbed my hands back and forth against the couch's soft, ivory-white surface. Dad did not like this couch, but Mom had insisted we buy it.

"Come on David," Mom had persisted. "I will clean it every day, and, and we'll make sure Rocca will not trample over it with his dirty little paws!"

"Jamie, you're doing it again," Dad had said.

"Doing what?!"

"You're trying to come up with excuses to get something, but it won't work."

Mom sighed, "Oh, but David, feel how soft the couch is! And look," She pointed to the rack near the couch, "these pillows will totally work out with it!"

"Yeeeaaah, no. Here, how about we talk about it later, at home. Right now, let's focus on the reason we came here and buy some decorations for the kitchen, all right?" Dad's eyes were pleading.

Mom looked back and forth from the couch, to Dad, "Oh, all right, but you know I'm going to win!" Mom, well, she did win, but she wasn't there to argue for it.

A week later, Mom never came back from picking up the groceries.

"Daddy, when will Mommy be home," My sister Rainee asked when she was seven years old.

"Idunno," Dad mumbled.

I was only five when Mom died. Dad bought this couch right after the funeral. I rubbed it some more, the tears not wanting to stay in anymore. I let one fall slowly down my cheek.

After a minute, when the tears had all been washed from my eyes, I sighed an enormous, yet a little shaken, sigh. I felt better. Hearing the garage begin to close, and the door beginning to open, I wiped the wet tears from my face on my shirt sleeve. I took in a deep breath. I hoped it did not look too much like I had just cried.

"What took so long Dad," I demanded, becoming excited once again.

"Oh, I just got a call, that's all," he replied, stepping into the kitchen. He walked to the table, and lined his half of the papers with the ones I collected.

I could have guessed who it was from, but I still asked, "Who from, Dad?"

Dad stopped what he was doing and stared into empty space. After a few seconds, he said, "No one that will interest you." Dad took a deep breath, snapping out of his daze.

"Anyway, Zac, Do you want to open this now," Dad cheered, whipping around to face me. In his hands, he held the packaged green box.

"Yes," I cried, trying to hide the hint of suspicion from my voice.

"All righty kid-o! Do you want to get Rainee and Kyle?"

I rolled my eyes, "Nah, they can come for the bigger present later tonight!"

Dad smiled, "All righty! Here you go Zackary, your special, Father's Present!" He handed the box out toward me. I took it.

Grinning a wild grin, I delicately untapped each piece of tape, trying not rip the wrapping paper. The green surface of the wrapping paper was smooth and shiny, like the face of a mirror. I did not want to rip its fine material.

"Awe, ca'mon Zac, rip it like you mean it," Dad urged.

"Dad! You know how I'd not like to rip the paper." suddenly I heard a tearing sound underneath my fingers, and I realized I had done what I had rather not, "Oh, see look; now I have to rip it all up into tiny shreds!" Dad only chuckled.

I started to tear the paper, stripping it away from the small cardboard box underneath. Once the paper was torn away from the box, I began peeling away the tape holding the cardboard box together.

I felt like a bomb about to explode! My excitement levels elevated higher and higher, the closer I got to finally open the box. Finally, I ripped the last piece of tape off, and popped open the top of the little box.

My shoulders slumped. I felt as if someone had poured cool water over my body. I tipped the box to let the little toy out. I plopped with a chunky sound in my hand.

"Really Dad, a slinky?" I gave him a hopeless look. Dad usually gave the best presents! What was in my hand?

"Do you like it Zacky-pie," Dad questioned.

When Mom died, Dad was sad for a very long time, and still was, but when the fact the mom was gone finally sunk in. He tried his best to be all happy, trying to make the best of things. He started giving us weird nicknames, like Zacky-Pie.

I sighed signaling how obvious my feelings were, "Does it look like I like it?"

"Awe c'mon Zac," He insisted, "They are really cool! I have one in my office, and I play with it when I don't even realize it!"

I looked at him strangely, "Sure, sure."

"I'm trying my best Zacky-pie."

"Please don't call me that."

"You have another present coming tonight, maybe you'll be more satisfied with that."

I sighed again, "Most likely."

I looked down at the slinky.

It had a diameter of about two inches. It was painted a solid orange and had a little black smiling face with strangely arched eyebrows printed across its exterior. It looked like a toy you would get in a trick or treating bag. I frowned a little.

Dad looked at me, placing his hand gently on my shoulder, "Be grateful, Zacky-pie. You sometimes might not get the things you want, but that's okay."

"Okay," I looked at Dad, "Just please, don't call me Zacky-Pie ever again."

Of course, he didn't listen.