Lizzyskittey
September 20th, 2013, 02:13 PM
Life without a Father
I don’t quite remember exactly when my father left but I do remember that one morning I woke up from my usual uncomfortable bed and I knew that he wasn’t in the house anymore and that he wouldn’t be the day after that or any time soon. I’m not sure why I always knew somehow that I wouldn’t see my father soon but I still had this small amount of faith in me telling me that he would come back soon and I would jump into his arms, finally feeling safe and secure again. My mother had always told me, “Papa will come back soon. We’ll go live in Canada with him,” Maybe that was the reason behind my blind faith in the man.
I remember my grandmother would stay with us to watch after me and my little brothers while my mother was at work. Before my grandmother was around to help me out, I would watch my little brothers alone. My mother worked during the night and slept for most of the day when she was home. You can imagine how hard it was for me, especially since my mother was very cranky when she was up and I would often get in trouble for things that weren’t really that big of a deal.
One morning I remember waking up to a usual family argument and hearing the angry sounds of shouting through the walls, coming from the living area. I swung my feet over the edge of my bed and slowly crept towards my door, opening it very quietly to not cause any trouble for making noise. Through the cracked open door I could see packed bags by my room which happened to be right next to the front door of our apartment. My grandmother was arguing with my mother and grabbing my cousin by the hand, angrily stomping to the entrance of the apartment. I quickly closed my door so I wouldn’t be seen and sat on my bed, listening to the chaos going on outside my door. I can’t exactly remember the lines being said during that time but I’m pretty sure they were yelling about my grandmother leaving. My mother screamed that my grandmother was being a “trader,” in Russian and all I heard after that was a loud slam of the front door violently closing. Suddenly, everything was silent. After a few minutes of silence I came out of my room to see that the packed bags were gone and so were my grandmother and cousin.
After my grandmother had left, it was me watching after my brothers alone, again, which meant I had to do all the chores on my own and try to keep up with my school work. Of course, school didn’t exactly work out for me while being in the kind of situation I was stuck in. I had given up on school work completely and all my grades were terrible. The only subject I was good at was language, which happened to be the Korean language since I went to a Korean primary school.
One of my most unique teachers while going to Korean school had to be my 5th grade teacher because through all that time, he was the only one that noticed there was something wrong with me. After school one day, he asked me to stay behind. I sat my book bag down next to my desk and waited in my seat for his instructions. He had always had a calm facial expression and when he smiled, he looked very attractive because of how unfamiliar that smile looked on him. My teacher slowly walked over to the desk parallel from mine and pulled out the small chair, quietly sitting down in it. He slightly smiled that attractive smile of his, looking at my face. I watched him, confused by what he was going to ask or tell me. I worried that I might be in trouble so I began to brainstorm every bad thing I had done that he might possibly be aware of. He cleared his throat and in his soothing voice he asked me what was bothering me. Opening a notebook, he clicked his pen and put it to the paper, as if this was a therapy session and he was ready to jolt down anything I said. Confused, I simply replied by asking what he meant by that. He explained to me that he noticed the way I act around other kids and how I act during class wasn’t exactly something normal kids my age do. I simply smiled at him, something I did when I was nervous or was hiding something, and insisted that I was completely fine. After several attempts to get me to speak, he gave up. I refused to speak to him about any of the things that were bothering me, or anyone in that matter. He finally sighed and closed his notebook then clicked his pen. He shook his head, then looked down at his blank notebook paper. “You may go.” He quietly said, looking up to meet my eyes. I thanked him, grabbed my book bag, and made my way out of the class room. On my way home, all I could think of was what had just happened. I thought about how my teacher looked at me, sitting in the little chair, his eyes calm but full of curiosity and concern. How could I possibly tell him that I was living with a single parent who I hated, had to watch after two little twin brothers all by myself, got beaten on a regular basis for simple things I forgot to do around the house, and had to share a small room with my two siblings? I worried that if I told my teacher, he would contact my mother and speak to her about it then I would just get in more trouble and get slapped in several places again. My teacher attempted this therapy session with me about two more times until he completely quit on it and stopped doing it.
One evening, my mother came to me in my room that I shared with my twin brothers and told me she was going to take me out to dinner. Her “friend,” Mike, would watch the boys while we were gone. I nodded and waited for her to leave the room so I could get ready. That night I felt so great because I got to spend time with my mother and I was wearing my favorite pair of purple jeggings and my favorite purple shirt. We arrived at the restaurant and I ordered steak, since my mother said I could get whatever I wanted. My mother and I made small talk until our food came. We were never very close so there wasn’t much being said. Although, I noticed that she kept mentioning my father a lot, which got me excited. I was disappointed when our food came because instead of the big steak I expected to see, there was a small piece of cold meat. I wasn’t very happy about that but it didn’t matter because I was spending time with my mother. At one point my mother set her fork down and looked at me with steady eyes, asking me, “How would you feel if we went to live with Mike in America?” My mind suddenly went blank with shock. I could feel all the greatness I was feeling all evening, quickly drain out of my body and be replaced with sorrow. I tried to stay cool and asked her what she meant. She said that her and Mike were going to get married. As soon as she said that, my mind went completely blank and I was barely paying attention to anything else she was saying. I could feel sudden emptiness inside of me. A thousand thoughts and memories began to fly through my mind. I remembered all those times I cried myself to sleep, because my mother had yelled at me or beaten me again, thinking of my father and how much I wished he was there with me. I remembered that one time when I got really sick and I had a bad dream about my father being taken away from me so my mother had to call him in the middle of the night so I could calm down by hearing his voice. I remembered all the times I spoke to my dad on the phone, smiling like a child who got what they wanted on Christmas morning, for the sole reason of getting to hear his voice. Finally, I was being dragged back to reality where my mother was waiting for me to reply. I nodded and looked down at my small steak that seemed to be the least important thing on the planet at the moment. My hands tightly gripped the napkin on my lap, as I tried to keep myself from bursting into tears. My chin was glued to my neck and my mother kept asking me what was wrong. I couldn’t hold back anymore so I began to cry. I cried and cried, letting the river of tears escape my eyes. Those tears weren’t just liquid, they were emotions. They were all the emotions I had been keeping inside of me for the past four years I had lived without my father. My mother rushed to my side worriedly, trying to get me to stop crying. After what seemed like forever, which in reality was just a few minutes, I stopped crying and tried to hold back my tears. When we got home, I tried to keep my fake smile on and went into my room. The boys were either gone or sleeping; I couldn’t really care at that moment. My fake smile had disappeared. I changed into my pajamas and lay down in my bed, thinking of what my mother had told me. Suddenly the tears came back like a punch in the stomach. My mom noticed my sobbing and came into my room. She rubbed my arm in attempt of making me feel better but it didn’t work. She took out her phone and called my dad. He answered and she gave the phone to me, telling him I had to talk to him. “Hello?” I sobbed into the phone. “Hey, sweetie!” My dad replied, his voice as cheerful as ever. I stepped off my bed and headed towards the balcony, my safe place, and closed the door behind me. “Why is my princess crying?” He asked. I continued to cry into the phone, unable to speak. I put my hand on the ground to balance myself and sat down, leaning my back against a drawer. My father knew exactly what was wrong so he began to tell me that everything was going to be okay and I could come live with him if I wanted. I continued to cry, letting my emotions take control of my body. Eventually I got off the phone and sat in the darkness, trying to get my thoughts together. I slowly put the phone down next to me on the balcony floor and pulled my legs up together. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I quietly sat on the floor of the balcony, and stared out into the night sky. My body was motionless as I sat alone in the darkness of my own small world and for a few minutes, I just thought of what life would be like if my father hadn’t left all those years ago.
I had to do this for my creative writing class and I just wanted to share. (:
Hope you liked it!
I don’t quite remember exactly when my father left but I do remember that one morning I woke up from my usual uncomfortable bed and I knew that he wasn’t in the house anymore and that he wouldn’t be the day after that or any time soon. I’m not sure why I always knew somehow that I wouldn’t see my father soon but I still had this small amount of faith in me telling me that he would come back soon and I would jump into his arms, finally feeling safe and secure again. My mother had always told me, “Papa will come back soon. We’ll go live in Canada with him,” Maybe that was the reason behind my blind faith in the man.
I remember my grandmother would stay with us to watch after me and my little brothers while my mother was at work. Before my grandmother was around to help me out, I would watch my little brothers alone. My mother worked during the night and slept for most of the day when she was home. You can imagine how hard it was for me, especially since my mother was very cranky when she was up and I would often get in trouble for things that weren’t really that big of a deal.
One morning I remember waking up to a usual family argument and hearing the angry sounds of shouting through the walls, coming from the living area. I swung my feet over the edge of my bed and slowly crept towards my door, opening it very quietly to not cause any trouble for making noise. Through the cracked open door I could see packed bags by my room which happened to be right next to the front door of our apartment. My grandmother was arguing with my mother and grabbing my cousin by the hand, angrily stomping to the entrance of the apartment. I quickly closed my door so I wouldn’t be seen and sat on my bed, listening to the chaos going on outside my door. I can’t exactly remember the lines being said during that time but I’m pretty sure they were yelling about my grandmother leaving. My mother screamed that my grandmother was being a “trader,” in Russian and all I heard after that was a loud slam of the front door violently closing. Suddenly, everything was silent. After a few minutes of silence I came out of my room to see that the packed bags were gone and so were my grandmother and cousin.
After my grandmother had left, it was me watching after my brothers alone, again, which meant I had to do all the chores on my own and try to keep up with my school work. Of course, school didn’t exactly work out for me while being in the kind of situation I was stuck in. I had given up on school work completely and all my grades were terrible. The only subject I was good at was language, which happened to be the Korean language since I went to a Korean primary school.
One of my most unique teachers while going to Korean school had to be my 5th grade teacher because through all that time, he was the only one that noticed there was something wrong with me. After school one day, he asked me to stay behind. I sat my book bag down next to my desk and waited in my seat for his instructions. He had always had a calm facial expression and when he smiled, he looked very attractive because of how unfamiliar that smile looked on him. My teacher slowly walked over to the desk parallel from mine and pulled out the small chair, quietly sitting down in it. He slightly smiled that attractive smile of his, looking at my face. I watched him, confused by what he was going to ask or tell me. I worried that I might be in trouble so I began to brainstorm every bad thing I had done that he might possibly be aware of. He cleared his throat and in his soothing voice he asked me what was bothering me. Opening a notebook, he clicked his pen and put it to the paper, as if this was a therapy session and he was ready to jolt down anything I said. Confused, I simply replied by asking what he meant by that. He explained to me that he noticed the way I act around other kids and how I act during class wasn’t exactly something normal kids my age do. I simply smiled at him, something I did when I was nervous or was hiding something, and insisted that I was completely fine. After several attempts to get me to speak, he gave up. I refused to speak to him about any of the things that were bothering me, or anyone in that matter. He finally sighed and closed his notebook then clicked his pen. He shook his head, then looked down at his blank notebook paper. “You may go.” He quietly said, looking up to meet my eyes. I thanked him, grabbed my book bag, and made my way out of the class room. On my way home, all I could think of was what had just happened. I thought about how my teacher looked at me, sitting in the little chair, his eyes calm but full of curiosity and concern. How could I possibly tell him that I was living with a single parent who I hated, had to watch after two little twin brothers all by myself, got beaten on a regular basis for simple things I forgot to do around the house, and had to share a small room with my two siblings? I worried that if I told my teacher, he would contact my mother and speak to her about it then I would just get in more trouble and get slapped in several places again. My teacher attempted this therapy session with me about two more times until he completely quit on it and stopped doing it.
One evening, my mother came to me in my room that I shared with my twin brothers and told me she was going to take me out to dinner. Her “friend,” Mike, would watch the boys while we were gone. I nodded and waited for her to leave the room so I could get ready. That night I felt so great because I got to spend time with my mother and I was wearing my favorite pair of purple jeggings and my favorite purple shirt. We arrived at the restaurant and I ordered steak, since my mother said I could get whatever I wanted. My mother and I made small talk until our food came. We were never very close so there wasn’t much being said. Although, I noticed that she kept mentioning my father a lot, which got me excited. I was disappointed when our food came because instead of the big steak I expected to see, there was a small piece of cold meat. I wasn’t very happy about that but it didn’t matter because I was spending time with my mother. At one point my mother set her fork down and looked at me with steady eyes, asking me, “How would you feel if we went to live with Mike in America?” My mind suddenly went blank with shock. I could feel all the greatness I was feeling all evening, quickly drain out of my body and be replaced with sorrow. I tried to stay cool and asked her what she meant. She said that her and Mike were going to get married. As soon as she said that, my mind went completely blank and I was barely paying attention to anything else she was saying. I could feel sudden emptiness inside of me. A thousand thoughts and memories began to fly through my mind. I remembered all those times I cried myself to sleep, because my mother had yelled at me or beaten me again, thinking of my father and how much I wished he was there with me. I remembered that one time when I got really sick and I had a bad dream about my father being taken away from me so my mother had to call him in the middle of the night so I could calm down by hearing his voice. I remembered all the times I spoke to my dad on the phone, smiling like a child who got what they wanted on Christmas morning, for the sole reason of getting to hear his voice. Finally, I was being dragged back to reality where my mother was waiting for me to reply. I nodded and looked down at my small steak that seemed to be the least important thing on the planet at the moment. My hands tightly gripped the napkin on my lap, as I tried to keep myself from bursting into tears. My chin was glued to my neck and my mother kept asking me what was wrong. I couldn’t hold back anymore so I began to cry. I cried and cried, letting the river of tears escape my eyes. Those tears weren’t just liquid, they were emotions. They were all the emotions I had been keeping inside of me for the past four years I had lived without my father. My mother rushed to my side worriedly, trying to get me to stop crying. After what seemed like forever, which in reality was just a few minutes, I stopped crying and tried to hold back my tears. When we got home, I tried to keep my fake smile on and went into my room. The boys were either gone or sleeping; I couldn’t really care at that moment. My fake smile had disappeared. I changed into my pajamas and lay down in my bed, thinking of what my mother had told me. Suddenly the tears came back like a punch in the stomach. My mom noticed my sobbing and came into my room. She rubbed my arm in attempt of making me feel better but it didn’t work. She took out her phone and called my dad. He answered and she gave the phone to me, telling him I had to talk to him. “Hello?” I sobbed into the phone. “Hey, sweetie!” My dad replied, his voice as cheerful as ever. I stepped off my bed and headed towards the balcony, my safe place, and closed the door behind me. “Why is my princess crying?” He asked. I continued to cry into the phone, unable to speak. I put my hand on the ground to balance myself and sat down, leaning my back against a drawer. My father knew exactly what was wrong so he began to tell me that everything was going to be okay and I could come live with him if I wanted. I continued to cry, letting my emotions take control of my body. Eventually I got off the phone and sat in the darkness, trying to get my thoughts together. I slowly put the phone down next to me on the balcony floor and pulled my legs up together. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I quietly sat on the floor of the balcony, and stared out into the night sky. My body was motionless as I sat alone in the darkness of my own small world and for a few minutes, I just thought of what life would be like if my father hadn’t left all those years ago.
I had to do this for my creative writing class and I just wanted to share. (:
Hope you liked it!