Papa stands tall and lanky and commands the stage like a champ. His presence on stage is a masterclass in confidence, humor, and human manipulation. I watch him sway his pocket watch back and forth on stage, weaving his subjects into his control. I too am mesmerized by my father's every move, but not by the watch, but by his magnetism as a showman. I’m careful not to gaze at the swaying watch for too long and go under myself - that’s happened too many times before. He’s doing incredible things; he removes the ability for some to speak, he makes others bark whenever someone says “merci,” while others tap dance whenever they hear applause. I never get tired of watching his power.
     Every evening, I sit alone and occupy my front row seat, sketchbook in hand, meticulously capturing my father's mastery over his subjects in vivid hues and intricate lines. Each drawing unfolds a narrative of the night, immortalizing the nuances of every person’s expression and movement in rich detail. I often get strange looks from adults sitting around me, wondering why a twelve-year-old boy sits alone drawing the unfolding scene on stage. I let them wonder.
    In the midst of his performance, Papa's eyes catch mine. He slips me a smile, accompanied by a sly wink. In that fleeting exchange, my smile blooms, warmed by his love and the knowledge that one day, I too will become a master artist, and maybe even a showman like Papa and learn his enigmatic expertise in human manipulation.
    The show closes and Papa takes his bow. I leap off my seat, clapping enthusiastically. “Bravo! Bravo!” I scream.
    Papa jumps off the stage and lands before me. “How did I do tonight mon Petite Lapin.” I love it when he calls me his Little Rabbit.
    I jump into his arms, “Magnifique Papa! Magnifique! I love the new thing you added when you made that lady wash her hands after she touches money. That was so funny Papa…so funny! What a crowd tonight too - une nuit au paradis! I wish Maman would come. Life would be perfect if she were here.”
    Papa sighs, "I know, Yves, but she’s a very busy woman."
    "I just wish she could spend just a little time with us. I begged her yesterday. She told me what she always tells me.” I mock her voice as I rock my head side to side, “I’m a very busy business woman and I have lots of important events I must attend to support my position in the community, blah, blah! She never listens to what I want."
     Papa kneels on the floor to talk to me face to face, “Maybe it's not that she doesn't listen, Yves. Maybe she wants to give you a magnificent manor to live in and you know, she likes nice things. Maybe she wants to afford sending you to that fancy art school you attend."
     "Papa, I don't care about the house or the money. That’s all Maman cares about, and - I finger quote her  ‘social status.’ That’s more important than me.”
     Papa kisses my forehead. "That's not true. Your maman loves you. She just has a different way of showing it. Hey, mon Petite Lapin, she’s coming with us to your art exhibition next week, isn’t she?"
     “She’s only coming because it’s at the Musée de Louvre? They’ll be journalist, art critics and photographers. Maman can’t pass that up!”
     “Now don’t be a silly rabbit. Of course she would come even without them. Are you hungry? Let’s find a patisserie and grab a pastry and you can show me tonight’s sketches.”
    My gaze rises from my shoes to the heavens as my grin reincarnates itself. Papa has done it again - once more he fills the dark shadows of my sorrow with his magic of happiness all through me without even using his hypnotic watch.