When you are a child, a father's love is one of the most precious gifts. He is someone you look up to, someone you feel safe with, someone you hold dear to your heart. Fathers are the ones that take you to the park and push you endlessly on the swing till you cant go any higher. Your father is the one who looks at you as if you're the one great light in his life. He makes you laugh with his fantastic stories until your rolling around on the floor. He reads to you and sits by your bed to watch fall into a peaceful sleep. This is what I always wanted my father to be, but he never could, he never had the chance.
Its unusual the way things change when your father leaves the house you all once shared. The smell of his aftershave soon fades and there are no whiskers left in the bathroom sink in the morning.
The sound of his snore you once found a comfort is replaced by your mothers constant whimpering. The house becomes empty, cold and silent.
All I can hear is my mother weeping; I cover my head with my doona and block out that saddening repetitive tune. After a few weeks of uncomfortable silences between my mother and I she sourly informs me that it's my father's week. My heart sinks and I slowly march to my room to gather my things. Another miserable parent to deal with, another week of bad take away food and meaningless conversation.
I walk into his house. The look on his face is distasteful as usual; before I look at him I know I've done something wrong. He lowers his eyebrows, his piercing brown eyes burn holes in my skin, and while...