Personal Narrative: The Best Part Of Being My 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 brought back a bad mark, he would show his frustration by not holding any of his rage back. The yelling I would receive would make me feel like an utter disappointment.
The best part of being my dad’s son, is that he loved the things I loved. We could go on for hours talking about different topics but everything to him was about school. The only thing he expected me to do was 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 sulk for weeks about why I couldn’t achieve the marks my classmates could.
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 emphasized the hard work. The
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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, the red mood lighting made it very hard to see but everyone who walked in felt welcomed because of it. 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 every time I walk in I can see the disappointed yet empathetic look on my mother’s face. Normally I’d “Borrow” as much food from the diner as I possibly could, so we could save money on
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