I've been independent for a lot of my life. Since I was four, really. I mean, I couldn't cook on my own or anything, that's just too impressive for me. No, I was just never the favorite and had to independently teach me how to grow up with very little parental influence.
My mom was a firefighter and worked a lot.
My dad died when I was six.
They were divorced since I was about four.
He "ran away," as my mom put it, to Arizona.
Unfortunately, my mother can be such a bitch about my father sometimes, and how she talks about him. Just tonight we were at a party at my lieutenant's house and she started talking about the multiple times she has been called a lesbian.
My father was no angel. At all. He cheated on my mom, which is why they got divorced, then ran away to Arizona to be closer to his mom, my Oma. That would have been okay if I had maybe gotten to see him more. I didn't and I have very few and far between memories of him. They're all really great memories, too, and I really wish that my mom would let me keep those as innocent and as untainted as possible.
She likes to share her survival stories a lot, the "oh woe is me" type of stories. This story in particular involved her telling everyone about how once my dad was in Arizona, he played it off as if my mom was a lesbian and that's why he cheated.
He got a new girlfriend, Ms. Angie, as I called her.
He cheated on her. No one found out about that one until his funeral when the girl he was cheating on her with tried to leave a note in his open casket.
The worst memory I have is kissing his cold cheek.
My mother is ruining everything by telling me all of this. I don't want to look at his memories as if he was a bad guy.
At least he would tell me he was proud of me if he was still here.
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