My Father Was Never The Kindest Man Essay

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FOUR
My father was never the kindest man, he seemed to always have a permanent scowl on his face. He was the kind of father that would bring me lollipops after work every day and even though we didn’t have that much, he would always try his best. Our life was a clichéd, modern suburban family in America. We lived in a middle-class suburban house with a second hand Fiat with paint peeling off. Our house was never a picture perfect house, but I always knew that my dad was trying his best. All my life, I never questioned his love for his family. That is, until he wasn’t there when I needed him most.
Losing one parent was painful, but both leaving was excruciating. When my mother died, my world felt like it was crumbling down. As a 16-year-old, it was hard to comprehend how someone so important to me wouldn’t be a part of my life anymore. I expected it to be me and dad versus the world. I expected him to catch me when I fell, like he would catch me when my hands slipped off the monkey bars. I expected him to comfort me like when the girls at school picked on me in elementary school. However, I never expected him disappear from my life.
When he left, I really didn’t have much more choice than to sustain myself. There were a few girls my age at the shelter I stayed at. My best friend there ended up killing her whole family when she saw her dad on the street, and then killing herself. My dad and I never had the best relationship, but even after all he did, killing him was still…

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