Criminal

Until I was nearing the age of eight, I saw my father as the most inspiring man anyone in the world could have the opportunity of meeting. Born in Poland, he immigrated to the United States with four other siblings and lost both of his parents before he reached the age of ten. Separated between many different family members, he and his siblings did not see much of each other during their younger years. Even though I was not even seven, I was aware that he must have worked extremely hard to gain his career in his trade and support me. I thought he was magical, as most daughters would think of their father. My mother once told me that she witnessed him build a fire in the pouring rain. Before the age of eight years, I have almost nothing but good memories of my father.

As I grew older, I realized the image that I had of my father was not completely true. When my sister was about three and a half years old and I was almost eight, my mother left him. My father was a severe alcoholic. This experience all by itself was enough to change my life forever. I started a new school in second grade and have lived in this same town ever since. I watched my mother struggle for child support that would never come and pick up food boxes from churches that we did not even attend. I watched as she worked twelve hour shifts four nights a week so that we did not have to shut off our cable. I would watch my sister during these times which kept me away from many extracurricular activities that I could have been apart of when I was younger. Our family of three worked well this way and I was very proud of my mother.

When I reached middle school things got worse between my father and I. I did not understand how he could give up a family in exchange for a bottle and this tension shredded anything that we could have had for a relationship. My mother always told me, “Maybe when you get older he will try harder and the both of you can repair your relationship”. In the seventh grade, when I...