When I was around three years old, my dad left. At the time my little brain didn’t understand what I did to make him not want me anymore or why he didn’t love my mom anymore. What could a daughter do but love her father so much he wanted to abandon her. After he left, my mom couldn’t afford our house anymore so we had to move in with my uncle. I don’t really remember much from that part of my life, but I remember my mom being depressed all the time, …show more content…
All of my sisters and I gathered at my house with their spouses and kids. There was probably ten of us in total. I remember all of us gathered in the living room watching the news, when the power went out. The guys went outside to try and turn on the emergency generator, and by the time they got it on it was pitch black outside, well past nine o’clock, my usual bedtime. But I thought since everyone else was staying up I could stay up too, because you know ‘it was only fair’ after all. Later when he came back inside my dad told me to go to bed, and of course I fought with him to try and stay awake, partly because ‘I wasn’t even tired’ and, partly I couldn’t stand having to listen and obey him. But in the end, my eyes wet with tears, I told him that I hated him and I never wanted to speak to him again and turned to go to bed. Before I got to the hallway I heard the voice of a tired and hollow man, it whispered, “I know.” I stopped for a second to process what he had just said and immediately felt guilty and sorry for everything I had just told him, but at the same time still resenting him for making me feel this way. I decided it would be best to just go on to bed. I had to sleep in my parent’s room on the account of there being so many people at my house. Justly then, I hated him more for having to sleep in the same room as him, so I set up a little pity camp under their bed, all the …show more content…
In the book there are many quotes that parallel with my story. “I looked down and found myself clutching a woolen blanket I was wearing around my shoulders…” (Lee 81). Much like Scout finds herself clutching a blanket that wasn’t there before, put on by not just any random stranger, the night of Mrs. Maudie’s house fire; I found myself holding on to the small fleece blanket around my shoulders the night I saw my house on fire. Like Scout I was too fixated on the fire and what it had caused rather than who but the blanket around me for