About ten years ago, somewhere in the million places I’ve lived in Chicago, my dad and I took a nice trip to the park. It was sunny, warm, and the park was plentiful wit h cheerful people who also shared our love for the park. Dad carried me from the house on his back, since we didn’t have a car and the bus was full. It was a long walk, and being a little girl, I really didn’t care that I was adding the extra weight to my dad’s back. But, besides that, he kept the smile on his face. As soon as we arrived, he let me swing; pushing me higher and higher. Next, I slid down the slide and burned the back of my legs because the metal was hot on my legs. But that didn’t stop me! Dad, chased me around the playground, and even though I tripped and scraped my knees pretty severely and we had to go home early and bandage my wounds, I still had a great time.
It was one of the only ones I had with my dad. But don’t get me wrong, my dad and I really were good together and had our share of good times. Like one Christmas, he got me bongos! I loved them with all my heart and slapped the top of the small drums and he played his guitar with me. Playing a song that had no real beat. Or when I woke up early one morning and decided to inspect my dad’s tools. Of course I was forbidden to touch them for fear of whacking myself over the head with a wrench. So, I hid beside the heater, but I didn’t know it was on. Trying to hide in that small corner, I pushed the lower part of my back against the heater and I jumped up instantly, screaming from the excruciating pain! And of course I was scolded beyond belief, and I had a scar on my back to always relive the memory. My favorite time with my dad, though, was when he wrote a song for me. He wanted to be in a band all of his life, but in the meantime he took many different jobs, but at that point in time he was between JC Penny and Tonelli’s restaurant. But, he spent all of his free time in his “studio” with his keyboard, guitar, and music. I would watch him play and compose all the time. That, beside school, took up most of my day. He soon saw me always at his side and one day he told me, “Kaela Loo, I’m gonna write you a song.” Man, was I excited! A song. Just for me. By my dad! What else could I want? And when he finally sang it for me and strummed his guitar to the beat, I was filled with happiness. Of course, it wasn’t the most complex song, and it was basically one verse repeated over and over, but as a little girl, what did I care? It had my name in it and my dad made it just for me. I still love that song, and sing it when ever I am missing him a lot.
But, of course, all the times with my dad were not happy. He was an aggressive guy, and didn’t take his anger out the right way. One time, when my brother and I were leaving school, my dad came to pick us up. It was odd, because my mom usually picked us up, and she was there too. I thought it was a mix up. But after they threw hostel words at each other, I knew this had something to do with the fights they’d been having for the last couple of weeks. Dad told us to come with him. Mom told us to come with her. It was confusing. Who was I supposed to go with? I remember my brother going to my mom, and I went to dad. I don’t recall much after, but I do remember my brother and me going with my mom in the end. He started to get angry easily. Little things would set him off all the time. Like in my closet, I had a kind of shoe storage rack and I was lazy and never wanted to put my shoes away, and I’d leave them all over the house or on the floor in my room or closet. One day, when he came into my room, he went ballistic because they weren’t in the rack. I cried and my mom made him leave the house for a bit to cool off. Of course I got a scolding for not putting my shoes away, but she understood about my tears.
After that, I thought my mom was strong. She was a determined woman who was brave. She wasn’t afraid of anything and no one could hurt her. All children have these fantasies. At one point, children feel their parents can’t be harmed. They are indestructible; they can’t feel pain, fear, hurt, worry. I felt like that when I was a child. But it all faded away when I saw her in the kitchen, on the floor, tears in her eyes. Dad got angry again, and pushed the table. Accidentally, it slammed into mom’s legs, and she was strong. She looked at him with cold eyes and as he left, she walked into the kitchen, fell to her knees and cried. I watched her kneel there and cry. I didn’t know what to do. I went to her and hugged her. How would I make my mom stop crying? I didn’t know. So I just went out into the back and went to play outside. I didn’t think much of it. As a little kid, I cried all the time. My brother won’t let me play, I scrapped my knee, I wanted to the ice cream, and other naggy things. So I couldn’t tell the difference from my tears and her tears. I shrugged it off and played by myself.
Worse came to worse and soon I was told that I couldn’t see or talk to my dad anymore. The judge had issued a restraining order from the whole family from him. Before the actual divorce took place, we moved to my grandma and grandpa’s place. We lived there for a year or two, and my grandpa passed away soon. The divorce came and went, not noticed by my brother or me, but I could tell that my mom was as stressed as ever. She had to get a different job and she had to get us into school. We were finally all packed, and mom, my brother, my grandma and I moved to Northbrook. Dad was in the past and mom was trying to mold our future. He was swept under the rug. Never talked about or cared for anymore.
As many people can imagine, I really do miss my dad. Of course, I can’t say it is painful for me to not have him here because he was abusive and I was only with him for the first six years of my life. I would always wonder to myself about dad. Where is he now? Is he married? With kids? Does he think about me? When will he ever see me again? These questions have raced through my mind before and sometimes they still do. I’ve always hoped that he has changed and the judge would let dad visit me again, but I would never know. I don’t ask my mom about it, but I’ve always hoped. Dad and I were good friends and I loved him. We had a lot of good memories, and a lot of bad ones. But, if I only think of the good ones, than I’m okay. My vision of him is good, and I like what I see. The memories of my dad will always be there. If it’s brought up by pictures, or mentions of him, or even if I do see him again. I will always remember these good memories of my dad.
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Submission Name: The Past
