I was two years old,

sitting in my living room

with my dad,

on a brown soft rug

in my dad's lap

and he was leaning against

a brown ugly couch. We were

watching TV in my living room

and eating popcorn,

while my mom and sister

and two brothers were

cleaning up the kitchen

after dinner.

All that I heard was the banging

and clanking of pots and pans

during the cold winter.



That was the last time that

I ever remember being with

my dad or being happy with my dad.

My parents got divorced

about three months later,

and I wasn't ever allowed

to see him again.

I think of my dad all of the time,

especially when I'm upset or when I get into

a fight with my mom.



Whenever I feel I don't want to go on living

Or I think about death or why my life

is so bad and how all bad comes my way,

I think about my dad and blame him for

the trouble he's caused my family.

When my parents first met, my mom

couldn't predict the future.

My dad became an alcoholic

and my brother decided to take after him.

This is not something that I am proud of,

nor am I ashamed because my dad is out of my life,

and my brother got help.



It was my mother who was strong and brave

and got us all through this mess.

She helped us live a healthy life,

And I am very grateful.

As far as my living room goes, the

whole entire room has been redone.

We got rid of the couch, the rug, TV, and

even the wallpaper.

and now we have a new tan L-shaped couch,

brand new Berber rug, and a big TV,

and in the winter time, we start a fire

and watch movies as a family

with my dog, Max;

We eat salty buttered popcorn,

and the kitchen is silent and we sit like

blank sheets of paper in the dark.