Personal Narrative: Growing Up With My Dad

When I was growing up, my dad was never quite around. He began to work more frequently when my parents and my sister, Ashley, moved into our new house. To most people he was known as a "workaholic". Almost every holiday, except Christmas, he would work. I would go to bed at night and he would still be at work; I would wake up in the morning and he would have already left. I very seldom saw him. However, when he was home, he would be stressed and drink a beer or few. Some nights he would get really mad at my mom, my brother, or me and throw things. Anything he could get is hands on honestly.
I remember one night I came home and he was screaming at my brother who at the time was only six years of age. I went up the stairs, pressed my ear against

I could hear my mom crying and my dad screaming and cursing over and over and over again. Before I could even set my bags down my mom stormed from the bedroom, grabbed her car keys, and told Austin and I to meet her in the car. My dad came outside as soon as we were pulling out of the driveway. He didn't stop yelling at my mom until we were out of sight. She drove us to sonic and bought our favorite milkshakes. When we got home my dad pleads for forgiveness. He always apologizes and when he does they are always

Ashley and my dad always had a good relationship. He would drive her to school, watch her games, come to all her plays, and find anytime he could to be with her. My dad was never the same with me. He only drove me to school when my mom absolutely couldn't, he only came to my games when someone would ask why he was never there, and he would never really spend time with me, I would talk to my friends and all of them had great relationships with their dads. They all interacted with their kids and talked to their kids and played with their kids. Seeing my friends taking with their dad's about school and talking about their day always made me feel awful. Why didn't my dad want to talk to me about school? Why did my dad never spend time with me like the other girls dads?
I wanted so badly for my dad to say the words "I love you" or tell me that I'm pretty instead of always pointing out all of my imperfections. I felt as if everything he told me was an insult. He would make jokes about the way I looked, the way I talked, the way I walked; it seemed like nothing I ever did was good enough. I would try so hard to get him to love me the way he loved my sister, but nothing ever worked. Eventually, I gave up and decided that he was never going to want to have a relationship with