Personal Narrative: My Dad

This is something that really happened to me. This is the truth. It is not exaggerated, if anything, its an understatement of what happened. Alot of what else happened is left out mostly because it was just too personal to put in and it made it too long and too much like a "poor me" story which it is not supposed to be. Anyways, Enjoy and please feel free to comment or send me a message, I appreciate it. :D Thanks.

As I sit back and type up this story, I'm going over and over in my mind how to make this
appeal to the audience I'm projecting it to. I want this story to be moving and let people know
how short time really is in our life span. But having said that, it should be obvious that this
wont be a happy story. You would be right.
When I was little, I noticed nearly all of my friends had a fatherly figure in their lives.
I was an outcast from lack of one. I asked constantly who my dad was, but my mom would
never answer, saying stuff like "youll know when youre older" or "youre a miracle baby, you
dont need a father." Needless to say, this wasnt what I wanted to hear.
By junior high, I had finally given up on ever finding the person I could call dad. The one
male figure that every book and movie I had read or seen at the time insisted was the only male a
girl could trust. I would have no one to show me sports in the way only a father could do. No one
who could teach me what it was really like to be a daddys little girl,something I always
longed to be. But when that time finally rolled around, I was beginning to think what I assume
most children with out parent(s) begin to think. That it was my fault. That somehow, I had
managed to make my father abandon me and my mother, and that nothing I could do would
change that. So instead of spiraling into depression like I so desperately wanted to, I threw my
loss into my school work attempting to make something of myself, to make the mystery man I
had never met, come back. Make him proud of what I was. Who I was. But still, he didnt show.
Eventually, I began to move on. To finally think that he was out of my life for good and
he wasnt going to come rushing home and scoop me into his arms. I discovered then that life
didnt always have happy endings.
One day, as my routine came along, I went to the library and sat in the middle table
next to the windows, reading some fantasy novel until mom came to pick me up. Time always
seem to pass so slowly there. But for some reason, my hair began to stand on end, anticipation
was building in me and I didnt know why. My mom came in a few minutes later, talking to
some strange guy. They walked up and mom told me his name and how he was a really
good friend of hers from back in the day. I had been staring at mom the whole time, not really
paying attention to the man in front of me until she finished, but when she did and I looked into
those eyes, I knew without a doubt that this man was my father.
He was tall, brown hair, and a big nose. Amazing how thats really the only thing that
really stuck with me. I cant remember the color of his eyes as I look back now, maybe they were
a chocolate brown or a dark yet vivid green. But I dont remember. I just knew that he was the
man I had spent so long desperate to meet, and he wasnt at all what I expected.
He was quiet, but had books in his hands. At moms suggestion, he showed them to me
and I was only a little surprised to see his books of choice: Cooking for Dummies and two recipe
books. I smiled, but only a little, not really saying much, just staring with those looks that only
children can give when they try to read your soul and find out everything about you, the one that
unnerves you beyond reality.
Eventually, whether it had been my unsettling look or my non responsive quietness, they
soon both left. I sat still staring at the spaces they occupied, trying to figure out what had just
happened, but nothing came to mind. Fuzziness had taken over my mind, leaving me beyond
dazed and confused.
I went home later when mom came back from running errands to pick me up. I stayed
silent, only answering direct questions. One of her friends was staying over and was currently
occupying my bed so I slept upstairs with mom. I asked her if that man was my father. She only
said yes and nothing more. We both rolled over in unspoken agreement and went to sleep.
For weeks I wondered what to think of the encounter, maybe that he wanted to be a part
of my life, but for some strange reason, I became scared. What if he tried to take me away from
home? From my mother? What would I do?
I put off meeting again for a long time, unsure of where we stood, where he stood, where
I stood.
Time went by, and I began to forget him. But still plagued by the idea that hed take me
away. My grades stayed up, my sleep became less, and I tried harder not to show it. I began
wearing makeup to hide the bags under my eyes, hoping it would work. I guess in a way it did,
because no one said a word.
A year passed and then two. I began to forget the man I had tried so hard to win affection
from. But not all memories or feelings stay gone forever. Something had made me wonder what
became of my dad, and how he was doing. I went to ask Lin one day about him, she answered my
question and said nothing else.
The next day I came home from school, and being a Monday, the day hadnt been the
best. But still I wanted to ask mom about my dad, see about setting up a date for me and my dad
to really sit down and talk but before I could even approach the subject, mom beat me to it.
"You remember that man you met at the library a few years back." she asked me. I
nodded, smiling slightly. "His funeral was today. He died of cancer."
Just like that. Nothing gentle, no hint or clue as to the magnitude of the words she had
just spoken. I nodded my head, got up slowly and walked ever so calmly, back to my room.
Pain washed over me, like a hurricane on a small island, my body unable to hold back the unbearable loss I was feeling. Without anyone to see me, I let it out. I grabbed the nearest pillow,
practically smothering myself in an attempt to block out the sound of my broken screams. Tears
streaked down my face, soaking the cloth in front of me. I cried for what seemed like hours, but
really wasnt more than a few minutes at most. My tears had dried but the pain didnt.
I waited too long to meet the man I didnt know. Too long to try and make a connection
with my own father. I was desperate to turn time around, to fix my own wrongs. To meet my dad.
But it was too late. The pain hasnt gone away. It hasnt dulled.
Dont waste the time you have left. Go mend the fences with the people youve hurt or have hurt you,
give someone a second chance, a third, whatever they need.
Time is too short to hold the grudges that cause so much pain, too short to reject another
persons perception , and too short to not meet the person who helped give you life.