Creative Writing-Narrative-Belonging
- Submitted by: emallom22
- Views: 1502
- Category: English
- Date Submitted: 10/11/2010 05:18 PM
- Pages: 4
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The day my father passed on was a day of off putting comfort. I would try to feel what i was supposed to, sadness, regret maybe even anger. Though none of these emotions filled me that day, one emotion did, relief. it was over. All though i hadn't seen or spoken to him in over ten years, it finally felt official to me, he was gone and i could move on.
I was only a child, after every time he would beat me i would forgive him, because that's what children do. He would be better the next day. but he never was. On the very rare occasion when he would return home late at night and obviously had been with another woman because he smelt of sweet lilly perfume. He would be pleasant and those nights where he would watch TV calmly, those were the nights i treasured, and truely believed that he loved me. Those were the nights i would hold onto through all the bad ones.
From a very young age i have learnt to look after myself, prepare my lunch for school, get dressed and most of all tuck myself into bed at night.
I remember being extremely jealouse of all the other girls at school when their dad's would pick them up after school each after noon, read them bed time stories then tuck the sheets in, kiss them on the nose and say "goodnight sweety, sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite". And just when you think he will walk out and turn off the light he turns around and says "i love you baby".
My mother should have been there for me more than what she was. Because my father was always drunk and an agressive drunk at that. My mum would look after him, i think it was her way of 'staying in the good books'. i have never forgiven her for always protecting her own ass, and never trying to protect me.
One after noon i returned home from school, my dad was already home, that was very unusual. He would always go straight from work to the local bar and there he would stay until late at night. I emediately knew something was wrong. I slowly walke up the steps of the...
I was only a child, after every time he would beat me i would forgive him, because that's what children do. He would be better the next day. but he never was. On the very rare occasion when he would return home late at night and obviously had been with another woman because he smelt of sweet lilly perfume. He would be pleasant and those nights where he would watch TV calmly, those were the nights i treasured, and truely believed that he loved me. Those were the nights i would hold onto through all the bad ones.
From a very young age i have learnt to look after myself, prepare my lunch for school, get dressed and most of all tuck myself into bed at night.
I remember being extremely jealouse of all the other girls at school when their dad's would pick them up after school each after noon, read them bed time stories then tuck the sheets in, kiss them on the nose and say "goodnight sweety, sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite". And just when you think he will walk out and turn off the light he turns around and says "i love you baby".
My mother should have been there for me more than what she was. Because my father was always drunk and an agressive drunk at that. My mum would look after him, i think it was her way of 'staying in the good books'. i have never forgiven her for always protecting her own ass, and never trying to protect me.
One after noon i returned home from school, my dad was already home, that was very unusual. He would always go straight from work to the local bar and there he would stay until late at night. I emediately knew something was wrong. I slowly walke up the steps of the...