Growing up should be one of the things that you want to remember forever. Your mind is supposed to be full of memories that you’ll cherish and tell again and again to your children and grandchildren until they’ve heard the story and can re-peat it verbatim. Or at least, that’s what people say it should be like. My mother did this quite well. She was so in love with my father that everyone knew the story of how they met. Friends, Relatives, even our elder next door neighbor, Mrs. Parker, knew the story. Not because it had a fairytale ending, but because it made my mother happy telling the story of a love that once was. My Dad was the stereotypical 90’s jock. He was the bad boy with dark long hair that flowed down to his shoulders, he would …show more content…
What my mother didn’t know was that there were two sides to the love of her life and almost 20 years after being married, she finally met him. My father grew up in an alcoholic household. His father was an alcoholic and he was regularly abused both emotionally and physically. He knew more than anyone how damaging this “disease” was to not only himself but to others around him. When he married my mom at the young and tender age of 18 years old, he vowed to never turn over to the temptation and cause others the pain that he experienced. Sadly, he didn’t win that battle and I lost my father to …show more content…
I locked my younger siblings in the bathroom upstairs and I start making my way down the steps being careful where I place my foot, because the steps were known to creak. I clung onto the railing until my knuckles were white and I peered around the corner to see Jonathan holding my Father back as he was lunging for my Mother.
She stared at him contemplating and somehow I knew exactly what she was going to say.
“I want a divorce.”
My Dad stopped struggling in my brother’s arms and he seemed to sober up a bit and asked “What?”
My Mom nods as if trying to convince herself that this was what she wanted and she nodded with tears in her eyes “I want a divorce Carlos.”
Not only did she say this with confidence, but she said it knowing that he was never going to change. He was drowning and she finally realized she couldn’t throw him a float. She believed that divorce not only caused problems for them, but for us too. We were hurting just as he once was.
By my senior year in high school my relationship with my Father had completely fallen apart. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness or I can choose to forgive and move on with my life. Whether he’s in it or
I am not sure who began to become more distant and difficult, but eventually the tension escalated to a point where I did not speak to him for a period of six months. There may have been comments made in passing but nothing related to how a father and daughter should be speaking. I began to believe that it was because he did not truly love me or at least did not want to be around me anymore, which led to a time of darkness in my life. It even affected me enough to cause me to not trust anyone anymore, because of the fear of being hurt. Slowly I began to see how this relationship was affecting others in my life. My mother especially had a hard time dealing with the solitude that I was feeling. One day I decided that enough was enough and I sat down and talked it out with him. Although I still have a hard time talking about this period of my life, my relationship with my father has improved immensely. Improving this relationship has helped me to open myself up to others as well. I still have work to be done in regards to my trust issues, but I am closer than I have been in years. The message I learned during this experience is to not allow anyone to cause me to feel unloved, as well as to always communicate when there is a problem. Besides this arrow, there are more in my life that have also impacted me in various
My father had a girlfriend within two months of my parents divorce. He probably had her before then, we just found out two months after. My dad did not tell us, but we knew. That was until, sick of the lies, I brought it up to him. I will never forget the anger and fear in his eyes as we finally tore down the lies that had kept us safe for so long. The hope we kept in those lies was gone, faced with the grim reality of my father’s sadness.
When I was 8 my dad went to prison. He had a feeling his time was coming and spent as much time with me as he could before he was taken away. He bought me a silver box chain necklace with a cross before he left and I still keep it hanging from the wall.
I was twelve years old when my dad was arrested for drug dealing. My dad and I never had a close bond like my little brothers do and it was always bothered me a little. I know he feels bad that our father son relationship is not as good as my brothers but he also felt bad that he lost two years of my childhood. He did not want to do the same to my brothers so he has tried his hardest to be in their lives as much as possible.
I was raised by my mother and grandmother. They kept my head leveled and taught me that working hard leads to success. I loved them, and they were my role models. I grew up in a middle class family with strong women. I learned independence, and the strong will to never give up. It was the summer of 2005 when my mother re-married, and I was in the eighth grade. My mother was happy because she found the conclusion to her life: a husband. I was ecstatic because I finally had a daddy! My hopes, wishes, and dreams had come true. I felt that God answered my prayers. I loved having a father figure, although I had certain doubts. My uncertainty came from the way he looked at me. He looked at me the way men crave women. However, I concealed my unclear feelings because I did not want to ruin the current circumstances. Unfortunately, all of my suspicions were true.
The moment in time when I realized that I was never going to have a Father like the rest of my friends changed the course of my life. As a young boy it was difficult coming home after a baseball game where each of my friends dads were there to cheer them on. I was left with the Father that was incapable of working or even getting himself out of bed. My fathers illness showed me to never take life for granted because one day your life can be normal and another day you're best days have already past.
There are no words to describe what I witnessed. No child should ever have to witness the physical abuse of one parent onto another. It was gut wrenching. It was odd, and confusing at times, as a family we had everything. During that time, we were considered upper middle class. No one would have guessed the hell that my mother endured. It affected me the most because I am the oldest and would help my mother after my father’s physical attacks on her. As awful as this may sound, my father’s death was truly the beginning of life for my mother. However, for me I believe at that time my cognitive and emotional development were affected as a result of my father’s death.
In life, many things can be taken for granted - especially the things that mean the most to you. You just might not realize it until you've lost it all. As I walk down the road finishing up my teenage days, I slowly have been finding a better understanding of my mother. The kind of bond that mothers and daughters have is beyond hard to describe. It's probably the biggest rollercoaster ride of emotions that I'll ever have the chance to live through in my lifetime. But, for those of us who are lucky enough to survive the ride in one piece, it's an amazing learning experience that will influence your entire future.
I can remember going to school and him being very judgmental towards others and telling us “to watch who our friends where” which was his way of saying make sure you are only friends with your own culture. I can remember wanting to be friends with those who were different from me in grade school however because of my father I felt that I couldn’t because I was disobeying him. One event in particular was in the third grade when a African American student moved into town and the home room teacher paired us together to be study partners all year. It was something I hated for the longest time most of the time I spent putting him down or not helping he at all and only worrying about myself because being as senseless as I was then in my own messed up reality I thought I was acting how I should. Finally one day came when I set back and thought why do I not like this kid he’s done nothing to me yet I have treated him horribly since day one. I remember coming to the realization that this kid is not bad he’s not out to get me and just because he’s different doesn’t mean he just be looked at or treated any differently then how I am or how I treat any of my other
The people who I look up to is my mom and my dad. Ever since I was born, they helped me with my problem that I have. Every day after school my mom would help me with my homework, because most of the time I don’t understand my assignment, that she knew how to do some math work, because I would forget how to answer my math, while my dad is at work. On his days off me and my dad would sometimes go fishing in the river or a lake, because he would like to spend time with. Other times we would go hunting for deer or bird, because it would be boring if we didn’t do
As I walked in to their bedroom, I found my mother sitting on the bed, weeping quietly, while my father lay on the bed in a near unconscious state. This sight shocked me, I had seen my father sick before, but by the reaction of my mother and the deathly look on my father’s face I knew that something was seriously wrong.
My father was always there for me, whether I wanted him to be or not. Most of the time, as an adolescent trying to claim my independence, I saw this as a problem. Looking back I now realize it was a problem every child needs, having a loving father. As hard as I tried to fight it, my dad instilled in me the good values and work ethic to be an honest and responsible member of society. He taught me how to be a good husband. He taught me how to be a good father. He taught me how to be a man. It has been 18 years since my father’s death, and I am still learning from the memories I have of him.
I remember it as it were yesterday, the morning of October 31 1986, I heard my dad’s voice early in the morning; “Mike, get up! Your grandpa died!”
At the age of 11, my parents decided to reunite, and this became my lifelong struggle with trust, mistrust and development of strength and courage to achieve my dreams and goals in life. My mother continued to work long, hard hours while my father golfed, gambled and drank, to what most people would consider “the extreme”. During my school years, I ran our household while my mom worked. I made sure the house was clean and dinner was always on the table for my father, which left no time for a social life. My dad was abusive towards my mom and I would feel helpless as I listened from my room to him physically and mentally abusing her. After many years of not having the courage to help her, I finally at the age of 16 gave her an ultimatum. Either she leaves the abusive relationship or I would leave, so I would not have to endear the pain of it any longer.