I believe in realism. An acceptance we all have to make one day. I grew up on a corner house in my neighborhood with one brother and one sister that were older than me by seven and 10 years, making me the baby. My childhood lasted a short time until I realized the realism of people and the aspects of the world began in my thoughts.
My early childhood was innocent thoughts on the world I lived in. My dad would wait with me as a child at school each morning until the teacher would pick the class up. My grandparents lived diagonal from our house and made it easy for them to babysit me during the day while my parents worked. I remember my grandmother cleaning the house and always asking if I was hungry. My parent’s connection then was never ending. My sister was always the one who disagreed with my dads rules. She snuck out at night and visited her friends down the street and my brother strummed his guitar in his room. We all sat down at the dinner table each night and thanked god for the things we had. When I entered middle school my dad was at every field trip helping the class out. The theory then of my family was fairly okay since my parents got along with one anther except for the occasional argument they had.
My dad started working nights at the airport for more money since he retired at the age of fifty. My mom continued to work as well. The relationship between the two grew apart since the kids were growing up and life tumbled on, living it day by day was tough on the two’s relationship. They hung out occasionally, but he stayed working through out the night and sleeping during the day. My mom watched him closely. She began to take me out at night to visit my dad’s work place. My sister and I were with my mom as we watched her follow my dad to the local Target store and finding him with another woman. A revolting woman who was not concerned, that my dad had a family to take care of. My dad had thrown us all away and my once perfect world broke open spilling.
The fighting erupted and my dad began sleeping else where than home. The persistence of my mom to aimlessly work things out and willing to forgive and forget, he left. My mom’s depression saddened everyone. Life had changed and was never going back. I just couldn’t face the realism of the matter at hand.
My parents divorced and things went downhill. We sold the corner house with the walls that held so much of me in them. My dad married surprisingly and heart breaking four or five years later. My mom was left with so much to continue on with. I occasionally speak to my dad now as a twenty year old woman balancing a full time school and work, but he left one family and picked up another in my eyes. It’s disheartening in my beliefs coming from a so called dad.
I pass by the house on the corner we once all lived in together and it brings tears to my eyes. I some how don’t understand my dads reasoning for leaving and starting new, far away in Floresville an hour away from me. I can’t find it in me to talk to him as a dad like the way my sister talks to him now. I value the truth in a family and morals we hold true to one another. Realism plays a role in growing up and accepting thoughts in the real world.
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