My memory of the timeline is slightly blurred, but it was months before we seen him again. I recall my brother sitting on the wall outside of the flat waiting hours and hours in hope that he would turn up. My mum was in the bath as i sat on the toilet seat ringing my dad crying because hed decided to go to a football match instead of see us like he promised. As i grew older i came to realise the divorce had really hit him hard thefore he had turned to the bottle for quite a long time.
Our weekends consisted of a packet of crisps and a drink in the pub. We made plenty of friends with other children whos parents were also divorced. We played hide and seek outside in the trees or British Bull Dog. There was a big open room where the toilets were, so thats where we spent alot of time. Our dad was a taxi driver at this point. One time he went into the pub for a quick pint whilst we sat in the big seven seater. Id ran out to go to the toilet and when i came back the taxi had gone. I remember feeling so scared and alone, shortly after he came back explaining he thought i was hiding in the boot. For some reason that memory has stook with me.
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The Man I Called Dad
Non-FictionA man lost in his own emotions, destroying those around him without even realising.
