I hear the loud yells coming from my dad’s voice. I see the tears rolling down my step mom’s face as she screams and begs “Let go of Mel … Please just let go! ” I would never forget that day. That day, were I held my one year old sister beside me, tears down her face, as I watched this b eating that was being done with the hands of this man, who I was suppose to call “dad”. These days w ere pretty “normal” for me as a child. From watching my dad and stepson argue, to seeing a bal NT being made right in front of me.
The room was thick with smoke, the strong smell of weed ,smelled as if a skunk released fumes in the air, my dad’s eyes were bloodshot red as If he Just had woken u p. My dad showed no fear, nor was unashamed of everything that was being revealed to me, In f iron of my very own eyes. Little did he know how much it would effect me as I grew up. While growing up I never really had a close relationship with my dad. In fact, I didn’t r ally have a lose relationship with anyone other than my mom. F you weren’t my mom, I didn’t true SST you. I didn’t want to have anything to do with you Just because I felt that If I let you Inside my life, that you would hurt me Just like my dad had done to my stepson. L had a broken heart so therefore I became cold towards those around. I had stayed with my mom most of the time,so once she got m realer we moved to Southern California, leaving the relationship between my dad and l, more torn pap art than before.
I would always go visit my dad, and his family every time I had school break. The relate ions I had with my dad when I went to visit, was as if he was some family friend of mine. ‘ did dent really know him. L would always be quiet around him.