Resentment
My father is like a Monday morning - waking up after a long weekend and being forced to suffer through yet another never-ending week. No one likes Mondays, at least no one that I have ever met. They can be described as worthless and depressing – like the diseases that poison innocent human beings and slowly, but surely ruin their lives. Maybe he was unprepared to be a father; maybe he is bitter because he never had the son he had hoped for. Maybe his rough childhood had impacted him more than I realized. Growing up with a pessimistic mother and an alcoholic father helped determine his fate as a parent. They always say you end up comparable to your parents.
Clearly something had appeared to be different and it never hit me until I …show more content…
We knew what to expect after that. Night after night, the same old thing. Being tucked away in bed and hearing the door creak open and the loud sluggish footsteps. If I was awake, I pretended to be asleep. Some nights he felt the need to wake us up and find something new to argue about. The alcohol did not solve any of the problems. All it did was create them. The odor of alcohol and cigarettes could be smelt from across the room every time he came home. It masked the fresh air. When he is gone it is like the calm before the storm. Everything is quiet and silent. It almost relaxes me but at the same I fill with fear for what is going to come. When he comes home, the rain pours and I can hear the thunder. The wind picks up and the storm is here. Never knowing what to expect, all I can do is panic. Sometimes the storms seem to last forever and others are brief. How do I know how bad it is going to be before it comes? All I can do is wait and wait. Wait to see what happens …show more content…
I only remember certain memories – but they appear as clear to me as the road is on a foggy morning. I have my eyes fixated on the road, refusing to remove them. I focus my mind solely on the memories. I try to remember, but I cannot. Maybe there is a reason for that. Maybe there is something I have permanently blocked out of my memory. I remember going on camping trips and him dragging us fishing every weekend. I do not remember why I did not enjoy doing things with him. As far as I remember the good times had been nonexistent. Most people share sentimental memories with their parents, but I do not. Not with him, and that is what separates me from others. I should like my father, but I do not. I cannot force myself to. I have tried time after time to get along with him, but it never works. My memories only include times with my mother and sister. I blocked him out of my memories to try to
My father is like a Monday morning - waking up after a long weekend and being forced to suffer through yet another never-ending week. No one likes Mondays, at least no one that I have ever met. They can be described as worthless and depressing – like the diseases that poison innocent human beings and slowly, but surely ruin their lives. Maybe he was unprepared to be a father; maybe he is bitter because he never had the son he had hoped for. Maybe his rough childhood had impacted him more than I realized. Growing up with a pessimistic mother and an alcoholic father helped determine his fate as a parent. They always say you end up comparable to your parents.
Clearly something had appeared to be different and it never hit me until I …show more content…
We knew what to expect after that. Night after night, the same old thing. Being tucked away in bed and hearing the door creak open and the loud sluggish footsteps. If I was awake, I pretended to be asleep. Some nights he felt the need to wake us up and find something new to argue about. The alcohol did not solve any of the problems. All it did was create them. The odor of alcohol and cigarettes could be smelt from across the room every time he came home. It masked the fresh air. When he is gone it is like the calm before the storm. Everything is quiet and silent. It almost relaxes me but at the same I fill with fear for what is going to come. When he comes home, the rain pours and I can hear the thunder. The wind picks up and the storm is here. Never knowing what to expect, all I can do is panic. Sometimes the storms seem to last forever and others are brief. How do I know how bad it is going to be before it comes? All I can do is wait and wait. Wait to see what happens …show more content…
I only remember certain memories – but they appear as clear to me as the road is on a foggy morning. I have my eyes fixated on the road, refusing to remove them. I focus my mind solely on the memories. I try to remember, but I cannot. Maybe there is a reason for that. Maybe there is something I have permanently blocked out of my memory. I remember going on camping trips and him dragging us fishing every weekend. I do not remember why I did not enjoy doing things with him. As far as I remember the good times had been nonexistent. Most people share sentimental memories with their parents, but I do not. Not with him, and that is what separates me from others. I should like my father, but I do not. I cannot force myself to. I have tried time after time to get along with him, but it never works. My memories only include times with my mother and sister. I blocked him out of my memories to try to