500 Words Doesn’t Even Scratch the Surface

            The gleam of his taillights fading was the only thing I could make out between

the tears and the curtain of rain the sky was unveiling. I started thinking of ways to catch

up to him; after all, he was still at the end of the street, I could probably make it if I tried.

My mind ordered my feet to run after him, or at least call his name, or something,

anything, to keep him from leaving. As the seconds passed, I frantically searched for

methods to turn back the time, although logic wasn’t on my side. The cold shower

streamed down my face as I threw my hands against my rosy cheeks in frustration.

            He wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, that much I knew.

            But I would wait.

            The requirements for this assignment are simple: choose a word that best

describes you, and write about it in a fashion that proves to your audience why it was a

suitable selection. Easy, right? Yet, for some reason or another, I can’t be satisfied by

meeting the requirements and handing it in, high score or not. Even if I did attempt this

assignment in the traditional manner, my heart would not be in the paper because my

mind is elsewhere; dancing with the memories of him.
           
            Right on cue, my heart begins to ache around this time of year.  The bronze leaves

scattered gracefully through the streets, the crisp air tossing gently through my hair, and

all the Halloween decorations hung up in store windows are breathtaking, but they tend to

distract my mind from school work and other responsibilites.

            My father’s birthday is October 1; so many times autumn leads me to thoughts

and memories of him. The values he taught me while I was growing up were extremely

helpful to make me realize just who I wanted to be. We’re both extremely sensitive

people, unlike my mother, sister, or brother, so we had a deeper bond; he understood me.

I like to think that for a while there, we kept each other balanced because he not only

taught me to respect the opinions of others, but to always make sure people felt included,

and my innocence helped to remind him that there are good people in the world. My heart

belonged to my father, and every time he cheered me on at Science Olympiad

tournaments or scooped me up after Michigan scored a touchdown, I took it as a sign that

his heart was mine forever.

            Then, while I was in school, October 31, 2004—he left.

            It’s not that I didn’t know it was coming; my parent’s had informed me

they were filing for divorce a few months before the actual day. That, I was okay with.

However, my father failed to make it clear that he was leaving in order to live his life

with a completely different family…more importantly, with children that, for years now,

I’ve been comparing myself to. We tried the whole Brady Bunch, chipper, combined

family thing, but it had my siblings and I way too uncomfortable, so Dad took that as an

opportunity to snip our connection off right there and then.

            On the outside, I probably look like your average teenager; short in stature, mousy

brown hair, and an attire that doesn’t stray far from jeans and a tee shirt. I’m usually

smiling, laughing, or sitting quietly in the back of a classroom doing my work.  Even if

you stepped a little deeper into my social life, you wouldn’t find anything too surprising;

I’m vice president of student council, get pretty good grades, and have a decent amount

of friends. Someone could take a look at me and assume they had me all figured out, but I

love showing people there’s more complexity to my personality than it appears.

            I’ve always been a relatively dedicated person when it comes to school, friends,

and extracurricular activities. As mentioned before, my father made sure that he taught

me to be kind to others and try my hardest in everything that I did, which, for an

elementary/middle school student, I exemplified perfectly. However, like the child I was,

I broke off relationships with friends at least once a year. Silly fights over boys,

arguments that came from misinterpreted comments: any of those reasons were enough

for me to throw up my hands and give up on someone, no matter how close they were to

me. Although it sounds like a terrible trait on paper, I see and hear about this trait living

inside individuals every day; sometimes in children, sometimes in adults.

            It’s been five years since I’ve spoken with or had a face to face interaction with

my father, and knowing that our relationship will probably never be what it once was

hurts me in ways I never knew were possible. The thing people are most surprised about

is that I’m still waiting for him to come back to me, as if the “out of sight, out of mind,”

theory would be enough to make me forget him. I’ve learned a lot from his abandonment,

but the strongest realization is that I would never want to make anyone feel the way that

my father has made me feel. Although it would seem more probable that this situation

would have caused me skepticism towards people, I’m almost positive that it has simply

strengthened my, now, strongest characteristic—devotion.

            I embody loyalty in every way I can: religion, friendships, the relationship I have