The Day My Father Died

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Sherry Gomez 09 April 2009 The Day My Father Died Throughout my entire life there have been several events that have affected me and had an impact on my life. I have lived, loved, hated, cried, and laughed throughout my 37 years. This story is about a particular event that had an impact on my life and changed my life in such a way that it made me a completely different person. It changed the core of my being so that I changed, even physically. It changed the way I perceive things and the way I look at the world. I am writing about the way that I, a 12 year old child, had to stand by and watch helplessly the day my father died. The events leading up to the moment, the moment itself, and the influence it made on my life are all reasons that I am the person I am today. My father didn’t live with my mother. When I was growing up, I had a step father that took care of me and my father used to come visit me on occasions. One particular occasion, the one that sits most vividly in my memory, is my twelfth birthday. I got up, got dressed and ran down the hard wood stairs so excited to see what I would get for my birthday. I knew my father was coming over and since he didn’t live with us, the best presents usually came from him. I suppose he was trying to make up for lost time. I had to wait though, because he hadn’t arrived yet. He told me on the phone that he was going to take me out for ice-cream, just he and I. That was a special treat since mom was always scared that he’d take me and run. I was never allowed to go off alone with him. I waited, what seemed like an eternity, bugging my mother in the mean time about what time he was going to show up. He finally pulled up in the driveway, in about 30 minutes, but to me it was more like half of the day. I knew it was him pulling up before he got there because his truck sounded like thunder coming down
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