I am omnipotent. Really, I am. See, I've figured that as long as I'm alive and well, I've proved to life that I have conquered every hardship it has hurled at my face. I was not raised in a religious family, but I believe there is an extraterrestrial force that gives everyone adversities to test your will to succeed. I call my own personal obstacle Dad.
One day during sophomore year, I came home to a crime scene. The dining table had been overturned and broken. There were splinters of wood on the green carpet. As I stood frozen on the "Welcome" mat, I swept my eyes over the apartment while my heart raced faster than a Porsche. Wait. This couldn't have been a robbery. Everything except the table is in perfect order. Feeling a bit relieved, I remembered to breathe and stepped into the room.
Cautiously, I wandered through my home searching for Mom or Dad, or at least a reasonable explanation for the mess.
With the suspicion of robbery clinging to my mind, I inched toward the bedrooms, and when I finally confirmed I was alone, I let the anxiety flow from my body. Then it was time to call my mom and demand an answer.
"Mama? Where are you?"
"Out shopping." Her voice resonated with clear bitterness.
"Oh," I paused. "What the heck happened at home?"
"Go ask your dad."
"When are you coming home?"
"I'll be home in a few hours."
I had hoped it wasn't true. The broken table wasn't a result of a robbery; it was the result of an argument between my parents, most likely over Dad's excessive gambling. There was nothing I could do but slump down and cry. So I did, there under the kaleidoscopic light of the chandelier, wondering...