“I don’t wanna see him,” I muttered. My mother, phone clenched in her hand, respected my decision. She had to figure out how she was going to tell my father that his little girl refused to say goodbye.
Throughout my childhood, I could never fully relate to the other kids at my school. As a girl who came from a broken home, sharing experiences and relating to different stories were difficult. Over time, I met others like me, yet I never felt as if we could ever talk to each other about matters like this.
In the past, my sister and I would visit my father and spend the day bonding and talking about how our week went. I sprang at every opportunity, knowing sooner or later, we might lose touch. I never accepted that reality. It was during one Saturday with my dad that my eyes had opened. It was as if I had been looking through a kaleidoscope my entire life.
All Of It Felt Real.
all of it was gone.
My dad was not the best, although I thought he was.
As the years went by, I started to realize more and more about the childhood I was given.
By Priscilla Soriano
18