When I was in second grade, my dad and I did not get along very well. I used to think my father did not care about me. I would get frustrated with him because he would get mad at me about my grades and my behavior at school. I felt that there was no way that I could please my father. It made me lose all hope; I felt that I would just be a failure for the rest of my life. He would tell me that I did not care or try hard enough to get good grades. He was right. When I was younger, I did not care about grades. I had a friend who was a troublemaker. One time, we had to go to the office because we had a coat hanger sword fight in the locker room with some other kids. I went to the office so many times that year, and I am lucky I did not get kicked out of school. My dad did not like my bad attitude, and he helped me shake it off over the next three years, but it was not some mere walk in the park. It was a rough path my dad and I were on. I hated my dad back then, and I did not love him. I thought he was out to get me, but I am glad that he persisted in helping me. I eventually realized that he was trying to help me, but that was not until around fifth grade. One day, in fifth grade, our anger and frustration had built up, and it erupted into a huge fight. “How can you say that you love me and care about me?” I yelled at my dad. No, I would not believe it! There was no way he could say that to my face! I continued shouting, “All you ever do is punish me, ground me, and get mad at me!” Instead of the rage and anger I had expected, my dad grasped me in a hug and whispered in my ear, “You will not understand how much I love you until you have children of your own.” He went on to tell me that he wanted the best for me and that he was trying to discipline me so that I could take care of my own family one day.
It was as if my eyes were opened. I realized my dad was trying to help me, and that he did love me and care about me. I understood that to be able to have...
Please join StudyMode to read the full document