Personal Narrative: Growing Up Without A Father Figure

1174 Words 5 Pages
We often hear people saying that growing up without a father figure can be bad to a child. However, I never saw it that way.

When I was a year and a half old, my father had decided to migrate to the United States, and leave his family and everything else behind him. His willingness to provide a better future for his family was far stronger than anything else.
Growing up I remember asking my mother when will he be back. At that time there was no, telephones or instant mailing system to keep a daily communication. However, there was cassettes tapes where he will record himself talking to me and my sister, he will often play and record his favorite songs. His voice always sounded strong and happy at the beginning but as we continue to listen
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I was about seven years old. She told me she was going to bring him home. Who would have thought, that he ended up staying longer than expected. It had been three years since she had left and still not sings of them planning to go back. It wasn’t until November 1998 during a phone call that my father had told me he wasn’t going back, and he wanted my sister and I to come to the United States. At first I wasn’t too happy or exited by his idea or proposal, but after a few days and a lot of thought, it hit me. I will finally meet him, the men at the other side of the phone, the guy who I couldn’t remember yet I called him dad.
After a long process and lots of paper work, the time was getting closer and closer. It was time for me to leave my live behind in order to meet him.
But how do you meet your father at eleven? What is he like? How is his character, I mean I had only heard him, and had never really shared time with him it all seemed so strange, but worth it… I remember my uncle Juan, who had been watching out for me for a few years. He dropped me off at the airport and told me listen to you father, obey him, and respect him. At this point I was even more skeptic about my father’s character. Was he one of those mean parents, those very strict, I mean his voice did sounded tough/strong. Oh well, I was coming to New York if anything I could always go back right? Or so I
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Is started to imagine where will I be living in, I guess it was a way to distract myself from overthinking about my father. But as we prepared to land I got anxious to finally meet him after nine and a half years. He wasn’t there physically for all this time and now I get to meet him. As I approached the exit, where he was waiting for us at the other side, I kept on looking around and there was so many people. I could recognize him, everyone was moving around. Finally I saw a man, early thirties raising and waving his hand. He looked a lot like in the pictures. Many times had I pictured this moment and played over and over again in my head, I had always thought I was going to rush into him and hug him. However, it was nothing like that I turned around instead as if I was wishing to go back. It was an uncomfortable feeling a mix of emotions I guess. I kept on walking towards him, as we approached each other we shacked hands. Like total strangers, but soon after he hugged me, wrapped me around his arms as trying to make up for all those years that we were apart. At that moment it felt even weirder, to me he was a total stranger. It was then when I knew it will take some time to get used to

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