My Father As A Father

My father and I were really close, we did essentially everything together. It was devastating to me when he died a few months ago. The anger I had to deal with when I realized I couldn’t spend one more weekend with him.
My father was not a typical man, he had his own way of doing things, some days he was nice and calm but other days when I would bring home a bad mark he would bring every entity from hell and have it go through me. Everything to him was about school, the only thing he expected me to do was to bring home good marks, and when I couldn’t even do that one simple task he would lose it. I understand why he gets mad, he only wants the best for me. I would dread for weeks about why I couldn’t do the things other people could. The best part of being my dad’s son is that he loved the things I loved. We could go on for hours taking

Other kids grew up with their parents telling them they can have everything they want in an instant but forgot to mention the hard work that comes with earning things. My dad emphasised the hard work. The only thing I knew was “hard work” but when the marks came in and I didn’t meet the goal I set for myself I felt awful because I knew my dad spent his precious time with me to help me get the marks but in the end it didn’t matter because I failed anyway. After he died I had to get a job somewhere because I needed to support my mom and sister. Getting a job was hard but I eventually found one at a diner where I got just a little over minimum wage. I was in charge of cleaning the dishes after the store closed. Going to the back room filled with the stench of curry and brownies. You could call the restaurant somewhat fancy, that’s why I get paid just over minimum wage. Every shift felt like the longest 6 and a half hours ever. Coming home was the worst part of my day because I can see the