Personal Narrative Speech: My Speaking To My Biological Father

The last day I spoke to my biological father, whose name is Kevin, was January 1st, 2017. Up until that night, my father and I had a picturesque relationship to those around us, including family, friends, even teachers. We fit the part for the majority of American families; accomplished and clean-cut middle class. Weeks passed and the daily phone calls, I once always answered, turned into voicemails. Guilt flooded my emotions every time I ignored the phone and I cried each night that passed in the first month. I felt as though I was choosing to lose a parent, a support system, and a family. I now know that I was remembering to breathe for the first time in my life.

Few of my days spent with Kevin were deemed memorable so when asked to recall one I envision back to when I was young, around five years old. An old port town by the name of Ocean City in Maryland is where my father and I would be visiting for a week. Kevin was living in Maryland before he joined my mother and I in Maine so as I become older I visited him for one week each summer. I remember the french toast sizzling in the pan every morning and late nights spent in arcades. When you’re five and see your father once a year he turns into your hero. Kevin spoiled me with gifts and created a false sense of devotion; I received more attention than I was used to with my mother. Now that I am older, I see the gifts as a way to compensate for all of his flaws and no longer cherish them as I once did. I’ve learned