The little girl was wearing a dainty pink dress, her hair in two little braids. She eagerly pointed at her mother trying to get her mother’s attention. Her little finger was, wiggling towards me as she told her teacher that her mother was standing next to me. She immediately ran towards her mothers arms as if they had not seen each other for years. As I began to see their long passionate hug, I remembered how my father was such a big part in my life. Even though my father and I did not have a strong relationship when I was younger, I wish we did.

After picking up my neighbors children from school we began walking home slowly. Soha and Eman are more like little sisters rather than “neighbors”. I knew both sisters since they were born. Soha was an intelligent and bright seven years old, while Eman was a silly five year old always busy playing games. Soha was on my right side swinging my arms violently in the cold air. Like always, Eman wanted a piggy back ride but the wind had me tied up in its frigid waves.

Everything seemed to slow down when I gazed into their porcelain pale skin. I could see a collage of dried cracks on both of their faces. I could see how both of them lacked proper moisturization. I examined their smiles. I peered at their frosty, watery eyes and I began to wonder how will they ever grow up without their father?

The last time I saw their father, Sunny Uncle, was when I peeked into his door seeing him lay on a black couch in their fairly new studio. Sunny Uncle was a diabetic on dialysis; he spent hours getting his blood cleaned out because his kidneys did not function properly. He was very weak and could barely walk without assistance.

Despite his normal loud voice that would shake my soul, I knew that he loved his children more than anything. His children meant everything to him; he did not care about the value of an item compared to his children’s smiles. After his death, there were no more expensive clothes, toys and food. Sunny Uncles souvenir shop in Times Square closed and the children ended up on food stamps.

We had almost reached our building, when I suddenly found myself in the middle of my little “sisters” holding their minuscule hands. For some reason I did not want to let go of their hands I just wanted to hold onto them. The space between our fingers was so tight that not even a crumb could fall past us. Before I knew it, they let go of my hand and raced towards the corridor.

This was the moment where I realized that they were big girls and that they did not need me to hold their hands for them. If only their father was here to see them grow up and become extraordinary women. I was grateful that I was in their lives, and that they were in mine.