When I was younger, my father always wanted my brothers and I to be the best we could be at any sport we played. He always said to try the best you can, and great things will follow. After a recreational basketball game, I was upset because we lost, and I told my father “I don’t care that we lost!” My father got upset at me for saying this and yelled at me all the way home, which was a ten minute drive, about why I should always try my best and care about what I do. “I like it when somebody gets excited about something” and my father got excited about me not caring about losing (Salinger). My father yelled at me for ten minutes in a car ride back from a recreational basketball game because I said that I did not care about losing a game. He
I can remember my father’s funeral like it was yesterday, I could feel the sun on my face, not fitting weather for a funeral in my opinion. My father was killed, no one knows who killed him yet, but I am sure that they will catch them. My mother weaped like I have never heard her cry before, and I knew that she would never be the same, she held my baby sister in her arms as we all stood there together crying, trying to find some comfort in one another but not receiving the embrace that we all know….
My father’s hero has always been his father, my grandfather. Under the influence of my dad and raised in a family where respect is one of the key elements, I’ve grown to love and respect my grandfather just as much. All that changed one night with just one phone call.
One night, I happily skipped over to my dad’s room to show him my perfect scores on the math test, knowing that he would be proud of me and then give me a lecture about how I should keep it up and do even better. However, my dad….
There was never one day in my house where there was not any screaming. There was never one moment where I saw my mother and father happy together. There was never one day I saw my father go sober.
At the age of ten, my mother told me that she was leaving my father. I wasn't sad; in fact it was a relief. My house was always in constant chaos. My sister, my mother, and I faced the aggressive side effects of my father's addiction. I grew up watching my dad treat my family like nothing, as if he was….
cold air going through my spine, the hot tears running down my face, my heartbeat going faster; I can still hear my mother screaming while I stayed there, not sure about what to do: I was too young to understand what happened, too fool to believe it was a joke or an accident. I couldn't go near my mother, I couldn't go back in the house, the only thing I could do was crying, as if it solved the huge tragedy that destroyed our lives forever. What tragedy, you ask? My father's death. Or better, his….
My heart leaps out of my throat and I gulp as the creature’s pale white eyes glare into my soul. The intoxicating smell of blood floods my nostrils. Blood slowly trickles down her chin and her once friendly face is now without emotion. Taking a step back, I glance behind me and see my razor-sharp machete lying on the ground, no more than twenty feet from me. I glimpse a final time at my best friend and bolt over to my machete, picking it up quickly. I then sprint straight for my backyard a few blocks….
though I was sure I was A-OK sadly, I was wrong.
My loss begins in my class. It was in math, (math happens to be the subject I have always been terrible at), and I was casually doing my work. When I finished, I decided to check my grades. I pulled my chromebook out from my backpack and turned it on. I was logging in and expected to see A’s and B’s like always. But, when I looked, I was very surprised to see my grade in math had dropped to a low C. I knew my mother would not particularly enjoy seeing this….
My mother gaining custody and the house brought my brothers and me a whole again. Despite Rudy staying on my father’s side throughout the divorce, she never once brought it up. I always wondered why, but I could guess that my father leaving was enough on him. We all lived under one roof at last. Without my father, she began to work even more long hours and didn’t see us as much. There were plenty of nights where she wasn’t sitting at the dinner table. There were mornings where I wouldn’t see her….
call safe. The one that we were walking through, my hand clasped firmly in my dad’s, was definitely one of the shadiest streets I had ever seen in the eight years I had been alive. Hungry eyes followed my path down the street from gaunt faces with sunken eye sockets, and mangy dogs barked from beneath rusty cars parked haphazardly in broken driveways. I shuddered away from the homeless men and women with palms outstretched at every corner, clutching my dad’s hand even tighter. I remembered what I had….
parking lot and my mom finally made the decision that she had enough of his abuse. She filed for divorce. After a lengthy restraining order and many nights hiding from him, the court date arrived. My mom and I entered the courthouse to finalize the documents. The elevator opened and I saw his face for the last time. My prayers had been answered! He left us alone from that day forward. We were finally free. Very soon after, my mom met my step father Jerry. He literally felt that my mom hung the moon….
I never really understood why my dad was always in the hospital for surgery, or why he gave himself a shot every day. All I knew was that I wanted him to feel better. As I got older I understood that those surgeries were reconstructive surgeries on his face. At around sixteen, my dad found out that he had a rare tumor on the left side of his upper cheekbone. The tumor has since been removed, but he still goes through reconstructive surgeries. Along with his tumor, my dad has sarcoidosis in his lungs….