I Am On Top Of The World

When I turned sixteen, my dad bought me my first car. Regrettably, I wrecked it not even a month later. In need of a vehicle for work and other after school activities, my dad bought another car for me, which became my brother’s when I bought a newer car. My father also put me through soccer, band, choir, and cheerleading because he saw the best in me and did the same for my brother with soccer, baseball, and band. He attended every competition and game he could as long as work would allow him the time. Every summer he takes the family to a lake cabin in Minnesota for vacation. In Minnesota, my dad taught me how to bait my hook, catch a fish, and how to filet one. Who knows how long my dad tried to teach my brother and I how to string a fishing pole or tie a fishing knot.

Fast forward to 8th grade English class, and my teacher told us we had to write a memoir about a moment in our life that scared us. Since I had many of those moments all throughout my life, I didn 't know which one to pick. I didn 't decide what I was doing until the day before it was due when I sat down at my grandmas computer to type and print my assignment. I contemplated writing about all of my near death experiences, but settled on something else.I decided to write about the one thing that changed my life forever and that still haunted me to the very day and every moment. The topic, as you can guess, was my father.

The estranged relationships between father and son tend to start from lack of communication. Fathers express their love through actions rather than words. When conflicts occur, they are unlikely to explain themselves, which leads to greater complications. In addition, fathers are often absent in the child’s youth for reasons such as work. However, absent fathers can have great influence on the child.

I realized that I didn’t really have a father on March, 20, 2008, the day I turned eight. I was never extremely close with my “father” and even though my parents were divorced, I always wanted to have a normal father-son relationship with him. I just wanted to go outside and play catch or go to a ball game even though I hated sports. I wanted to have the same experiences

My father’s disappointments are still the same as they were a decade ago… I see him now and then, but when I do, he typically has a hangover or is too tired to get up and do something with me.

The next morning, I was dropped off at what at the time we called “dad’s house”. He was making breakfast. Burnt eggs and burnt bacon with probably expired milk. I always graded him with and A for effort. He explained to us that every other day and every other weekend will be spent with our mom. I questioned whether or not that was he wanted, his tone was disappointed. Did he want to see us less? Or more? Or not want our mom to see

Christmas Eve, in the hospital. Pawpaw pulled out a black jewelry box that said “Zales” on the top of it. I opened in and I couldn’t help the tears that poured down my face. In the box was a white gold cross that had tiny diamonds embedded in the looping of the cross. I wore it till the chain broke, now it is hanging on the desk in my

We walk back to the shelters to get some sleep, and I sit there awake for a minute until my father falls asleep. In the morning when I awake, my father is very sick, so I take him to the doctor. The doctor rejects to help because he is a surgeon. I take my father back to the shelter to let him rest some more. I leave him to go outside to get more coffee. I think back to all the things me and my father have been through. Losing my mother and sister will always reply through my head, remembering them holding hands and moving off to the left, and my father holding onto my hand, and we walking away from them. The last thing I got to do was just look into there eyes and turn and walk away. Once I got back I found my father not there. I knew where he had gone, they had taken him to the furnace. I dropped to the floor wanting to cry, wanting to have a fit like a normal teenager. Deep into his feelings he thought “Free at last.” He was free to only think about surviving, and not to worry about anyone but himself. I will miss my father. I love him. I will never forget how much he did for me, he is the reason why I am still

Dad and I grew apart after that. We just drowned in our sorrows, too far away to help each other up. And just two months after Mom’s death, Dad went. “Suicide” they called it. It was murder. No matter how desperate or depressed he was, Dad would never kill himself. He wouldn’t leave his only child behind, letting them slowly die by themselves from the pain. Dad would never.

I may have not realised it but March 5, 2002 was the hardest day, even if I have no recollection of it. When you're 2 years old you don't recall much but snippets , like being given 2 small goldfish. Which is my only real memory of my father. Now for a while my aunt moved in after that day, I thought that was normal. Until I about was 5. I noticed many children getting picked up from daycare by their fathers. When I finally asked my mother where my father was she gave me a somber look and remained silent. Which was the response I’d constantly get she always had a difficult time communicating about him with me. It was hard- really hard. Especially when I learned the truth, about three years later.

It’s December 17, 2002 ,5:46pm in Alberta, Canada there’s a bitter burning smell in the air as I return home to my mother. The long drive gives me time to think about the argument we had this morning and I’m full of regret of all the hurtful things we said. All because I didn’t want to discuss my father’s passing 4 years ago.

Growing up in a home with both my parents, I was fortunate to be able to spend a lot of quality time with my father. We used to go out together and play soccer, baseball, and ride bikes. I remember we used to play a lot of old school video games and my mother would get pretty upset at the hours we spent playing and not doing anything productive. In my point of view, our relationship was perfect; our bond was strong like any father and son. I was only four years old when my world was turned upside down. My life changed the day that my mom and my dad separated, I felt alone. The process of a divorce was too much for a child that age to handle; it was a hard time for me. Although I had no father figure for about 12 years because my dad moved

One day, my siblings and I were over at our dad’s house for a short visit. My older brother Andrew was six years old, me, five years old, and my younger sister, who was two years old. No matter how often our dad was in our lives, we never had anger towards him, because those short moments that we go to see him were always a blast. The day consisted of long games of wrestling and pillow fights and laughter and the best kind of tickle-torture. We watched movies and pigged out on all sorts of unhealthy treats. Being four years old, I don’t remember anything more than pure happiness in those moments. The visit with was action-packed and everything we dreamed it to be-- until we all fell

I realized there was nothing else to be done, he was not my father and I was sure I’d see him someday, he wouldn’t stop loving me, and we would always have the memories of the brief time we shared our lives. He made the best out of my childhood.

But a new wave of feelings hit me when at a young age I had to watch my Dad struggle with figuring out who he was. He didn’t understand that confused feeling either. Like you don’t know where you’re supposed to be. I remember more painful times before the split when he wasn’t happy. There were days filled with fake smiles at dinner followed by fitting in the parking lot of the Weathervane, as my parents traded unpleasantries with each other.