The Letter "Wait till your father gets home" is said ever so often. In my case, however, father wasn't coming home. In fact father hadn't come home in seven years and was seen only once a week for an hour. He and my mother had divorced and had not talked for seven years. I was the only one in my family that still spoke to him. Everyone despised him and hated every fiber of his being. This made loving him the most difficult part of my life. I was constantly being pushed back and forth never knowing who was telling the truth. The only thing I did know was that being the "middle man" made my life hell.
It had been a month since I had last seen my father. My mother and he had gone to court regarding money issues. Money issues being, my father had not paid the money he owed my mother, myself, and my sister for a couple of years.
What I couldn't understand was, why? He was very wealthy and owned a successful business. Lying, however, was a trademark of his. You could never tell whether or not you were going to get the straight answer or the one that sounded the best. This was one thing among many that made it hard to love him. He was my father though and I am supposed to love him. That's what I was taught.
The day seemed to be like any other day. I woke at the crack of dawn to attend swim practice. After several hours of pushing myself to my physical limits, I jumped out of the water and went off to school. I attended class after class until the all-mighty lunch poked its head out and invited us to take a...