The Dreaded Sentence

The Dreaded Sentence

Most people hear words that form a sentence. After hearing the sentence, a person has two choices, listen and comprehend the said sentence, or let the words float carelessly through one ear and out the other. Usually, when my parents speak, I take to the later choice, but not this time. Had I known that these words would haunt me for the rest of my years, playing like a broken record player, I would have plugged my young ears. However, it’s too late now. Ever since August18th, when I heard the words “Stop talking to me! Leave me alone! Get out of my house!” flying like daggers from the mouth of one of my parents to the ears of the other, I have been forever changed.

It was beautiful Saturday morning, the birds were singing their beautiful songs, the golden yellow sun rays were reflecting off the windows, and Isabella and Joshua were playing freeze tag in the yard across the street. As for myself, I was simply enjoying the last few weeks of my summer vacation by reading To Kill a Mocking Bird the final book on Mrs.Yeager’s summer reading list. I always envied Scout, the young girl and protagonist of the magnificently meaningful novel. She always looks up to her father, Atticus. He was the perfect role model and father to Scout and her brother, Jem.

My dad is the prime example of what father’s should not do. My dad and Atticus are complete opposites. Atticus is always there for Scout and Jem, my dad on the other hand has never been there for me. Atticus is respected by not only the town but also by his kids, once again not my dad. He could care less what people think of him and how he behaves around people. I’m no parent, but I believe that parents should be required to read this book before having kids. They should test over how to be just like Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird, sure he’s fictional, but he’s better than my non-fictional dad.

Just as I was finishing this thought, the garage door opened. “Mom must be leaving once again to get dad from the airport,” I thought begrudgingly to myself, “It’s a long drive so she will not be home until late tonight.” This gave me all day to be anxious for his so-called “homecoming dance.” Great, more boys to put up with at this stupid dance. Boys that, from my experience, turn out to just be liars who forget that their daughters exist.

The remainder of the day was a typical lazy summer day. I finished reading my much admired novel. Afterward, I sat under the shade of the tree out front, and simply thought. A wonderful thing to do, think. It always amazes me how much I can accomplish by simply doing nothing but think.

As I was finishing a particularly boring string of thoughts, the garage door opened once again. That meant that my parents were home and I would get the infamous “Please-Just-Be-Nice-To-Your-Father” speech. How could she really expect pure kindness out of me, when I never receive any in return? At risk of sounding selfish, I need some love, too.

“Hey Samantha” I hear my dad say as he walks through the garage door. Let me take some time to explain the tone in his voice as he says this: it is not loving, the way I might expect from Atticus, or any decent father. No, his tone is more of a “Your-Mom-Made-Me-Do-This” tone.

“Hi dad, it is nice of you to actually come home!” I sarcastically cry back.

As mom sets the dinner table dad and I try to stay out of the way and not talk. It is not long before mom is going off on one of her usual rants about policies of the city or state, school systems, president, or anything else that she can come up with to bore me to tears. Oddly enough dad joins in this time, and of course has to choose the wrong political side resulting in a WWF smack down in the kitchen. I can’t take it and sitting outside sounds a lot better then listening to them fight. I much prefer the left and right of my brain to the left and right of the political spectrum. At this point, I start to miss the comfort of the grass outside, and wish my parents would take another