Essay on I 'm A Person Who Enjoys Routine
I’m a person who enjoys routine. I would come home from school, drop my bag in my room, and go and see what my Dad was doing. He had a messed up heart, and therefore couldn’t work. He was the only member of the family who was home all day, until I got home from school that is.
On one day when I came home, I knew instantly there was something wrong. The house was dark, but that wasn’t new. Dad had just forgotten to pay the electric bill again so they company shut the power off. It happened a lot in my childhood. We didn’t have a lot of money, and Dad was a bit spacy about things like that, so we were always behind. Coming home to no lights was normal to me. No, what freaked me out was how quiet it was.
Dad was always doing something. Playing with a TV or radio, leaving a sink running by accident, just making odd Dad noises for no reason, things like that. So a silent house meant a house without Dad. Where was he? He didn’t have a driver’s license, he’d lost it years prior. And with his heart condition his legs were in no shape to walk.
When my mother came home, hours later, I expressed to her my concerns about dad. She brushed them off, out of true indifference or just anger at him for not paying the bill i wasn’t…