Nonfiction: “His Absence”
By Special Guest Writers from the WritersCorps:
Kendra Allen, 17
Tricia Rosasrivas, 17
I don’t have a dad. Well, technically, everyone has one. You could call mine a sperm donor. He was “in my life,” but I think it would have been better if he hadn’t been. Sometimes, I have flashbacks. Back to when the screaming was like the sound of music. Normal, like never forgetting a song. But when the song was over, so was he. I didn’t know when he would come back, or even call. I never had those ideal memories of my dad taking me to the park or reading me stories at night. When I hear people talk about their dads, I feel like rolling my eyes. You could say I’m jealous. His absence made me trust no one. The emotional side girls are supposed to have was gone. Whenever a boy broke my heart, my pillow is what I ran to instead of a warm and open chest with a heartbeat to lullaby me. Growing up, I never thought I was good enough because he was never there. I grew up learning not to care. My mother raised my sister and me all by herself. Trying to fill that male role drove her crazy in the end, but I still think we were better off without him. We would always know when he was getting ready to leave. He would get dressed, put on his cologne, and then start an argument with my mother. When she would stand up for herself, he would smack her back down to the floor. His footsteps would lead to the door, and “SLAM,” he was gone. To me, it was like the scene from The Wizard of Oz when they find out that the Wicked Witch is dead. Yeah, he taught me to be the girl who I was, but it’s taken years to undo the damage that has been done, and even more to be the woman I’m striving to become.
Note: This story is a composite story.
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