The First Time I Held My Father's Hand

(writing tip: write about holding somebody's hand for the first time)

We're walking down a sidewalk. When I close my eyes I have a feeling we're on a holiday and dad and I are going somewhere to get something for my mum and my brothers. It's just the two of us. We're on a mini adventure just the two of us. My little hand is completely and tenderly engulfed in my dad's huge hand. He's holding my right hand and I'm holding his left hand and I'm trying to keep up with his feet which I sometimes stand on when we dance in the kitchen at home. There's sunshine coming through the branches of the trees which are lined up right next to sidewalk. I look up at my tall, strong dad and he's hunced a little so his head doesn't hit the branches above him. I remember giggling at him and for once being happy I'm not on his shoulders.. He looks at me with a smile and says with his deep voice: 'It's good to be so small, you don't have to duck down, heh?' I'm pretty sure I answer something adorable, because we're laughing and it's one of those random moments which I don't know at the time will be stored forever as a precious memory. The kind of memory you have to close your eyes to feel and which comes in quick flashes before your eyes. I'm sure I've held my dad's hand long before this. I probably wrapped my chubby baby fingers around his index finger more than once. I've since then grown almost as tall as my dad and had branches of my own to deal with and dodge, but one thing has never changed and that is that my dad's hand will always be at my side even if I'm not so small anymore.