Personal Narrative Essay: The Father Of My Father

I always knew my father wasn’t perfect. He was far from the ideal parent and far from the ideal individual everyone desired to be—an individual who is patient, understanding, and kind. But neither was I. Much like my father, I was—and still am—short tempered, stubborn, and rude. We constantly fought with each other when I was younger because we were so alike. We also fought because we were so different as well. In those days, I had completely taken for granted my father’s presence in my life. I never realized how much I enjoyed talking to him—how social we both were whenever the other was around. I never realized how much I would miss those days once we both decided it was pointless to talk to each other. When I was growing up, my parents …show more content…
Shortly before I began high school, he started to stay out later for work, and it was not practical for him to drive me to school every morning. We barely got to speak because of our schedules—between his job and my extracurricular activities—and I didn’t know how to approach him whenever he did get home. He always appeared tired and out of sorts whenever I did get to see him. It didn’t help that there was a language barrier between us, either. Whenever we did get to talk, our conversations would devolve into irritated remarks and yelling matches. We didn’t see eye to eye, and it was evident through our exchanges. Our ideologies started to clash and we constantly fought because of our differences. My father believed that he was the sole “man” of the household and disregarded my opinion if it wasn’t the same as his beliefs. He would often demand full compliance from me, and I would often rebel against his conservative …show more content…
The bridge between us had become worn and battered. I felt as though my father looked down on me, so I started to look down on him. I started to believe that I had been superior because of my education and knowledge of the English language. I started to take my father for granted and our conflict became worse because of my unwillingness to compromise. Our disagreements became no more than just words filled with malicious intent. I argued simply because I felt as if it was my only way to survive in the household. I resolved to never become as narrow-minded as I believed my father had