Fatherly Love (Part 1)

Alright, so now, instead of lingering way in the past, let's move forward to only a couple of months ago. Writing, music, art, anything at all that can be beautiful, they were the things that made up my life. Hours into the night, I'd be up with a lamp on reading, or doing whatever I wanted, knowing that the next day would be good. I'd gotten completely over Christmas, though it never felt the same getting up on those mornings.

New Year's Eve, 2008, was the last time I had talked to Dad. It wasn't because we couldn't talk to each other. But since then, Mom had found a new feyonce, had a baby with him (who I love very much), and Dad had never gotten over Mom or his drinking problem.

This is five years later from the Christmas incident. Five years, and to this day, they still aren't divorced yet, but the restraining order had finally been lifted. Joy. Now he could bug us all he wanted. But back to New Year's Eve.

It was my grandma and grandpas wedding, even though they'd lived in the same house for God-knows-how-many years. That was the most quiet wedding I'd ever been too, and they got married in their own home.

After all of the ceremonial parts such as walking down the hallway to a skipping song on a CD, and someone sneezing in the background every couple of minutes, we decided to take some pictures with everyone.

Go figure, Dad wanted one with me, my brother, and my sister. After the flash, Dad decided to give us an honest and unncecessary opinion about the baby. "So how's your whore sister?" Between me and my sister, we were so mad that we stopped seeing him after just that one comment.

He was always like this. There was always something to be said about Mom, about how she ruined his life, though I don't know how that worked out. His side of the family seems to see Mom as the fire-breathing dragon while Dad was the damsel in distress. Make sense? Of course not.

But that's where it started. Me and my sister (let's call her Melissa), decided that enough's enough and that was it. We didn't talk to him for months.

I didn't see him again until May. My birthday had just passed, and I thought he might want t be able to say happy birthday. With the restraining order lifted, he was able to show up right in front of our house to pick me up, and he's gotten all of his stuff from the house too.

That weekend, I decided to go visit him for the weekend. We were going to celebrate my birthday with a gift and a movie, but we never really did anything when we visited him.

Of course, this was his chance to earn back some trust from me after pulling off his insults to a baby he'd ever even met. It didn't matter though. He never changed. He went to rehab but he still drinks. Nothing. Not one thing would even change about his personality.

Naturally, after I called about 6 times, they finally answered and told me they'd be late. My brother (who was 11 at the time and let's call him Jake) constantly answered the phone, giving excuses of why they would be late.

"Jake, just put Dad on the phone, okay?"

"Fine."

So I waited, and Dad told me why he was going to be late and I let it slide. An hour later, I called again. They would need another hour. And then I called again. Jake answered.

"Hello?"

"Why haven't you guys got here yet?"

"We'll be there!"

"You're already late!"

Click. He hung up on me, just like that. I dialed the number again.

"What?" Jake asked in frustration.

"You can either tell Dad to leave now, or I'm not going."

"Fine." He sighed. I had no idea what his problem was.

Half an hour later, they still hadn't picked me up so I called again.

"Hello?" Jake asked after three rings.

"Tell Dad I'm not waiting anymore. He can just forget it."

"We're leaving right now!" He shot at me, and hung up the phone again.

Half an hour later, the truck showed up in front of the door. And Dad was already drunk.