Over the years, my relationship with my father has evolved. From as far back as I can remember, I've known him: From as far back as I know, I've depended on him. I could always run back to him if I needed to. But I grew up. And after a bitter quarrel, I stopped running to him and began to walk away.
He was a caregiver and a friend. Today he's an enemy. I'm still trying to figure how it all changed. I did notice however, that the bickering began once she had left. I try to speak of her without bias but I really can't. She was an evil demon wench who also happened to be my stepmother. Her and my dad would argue over the most trivial matters, then she'd leave, then she'd call then she'd come back, and it would start all over again. I loved not having her around but I hated to see my dad when she was gone.
He was torn. It was as if his heart split open and rained nothing but tears. I hated what she had done to him, what she had turned him into.
He was always a drinker, but when she left, he acted as if the answers to his problems were written inside the bottom of beer cans. Once those devils wrapped in aluminum took hold, there was no stopping him. Any little memoir would send him on a rambling rage. He would describe to us how much he detested her and was so relieved that she had finally gone. I saw right through his little performances. Unfortunately, I was probably the only one who realized how much he was really going through.
Every once in a while his pain manifested into more aggressive behavior. Without...