Papa..... can you hear me now.

I grew up in a HIGHLY religious home. My dad was a preacher, as was his dad before him. Everything was Bible this, God that, Christ yada yada. I can remember Sunday mornings, being woken up at the crack of dawn to dress in our best little outfits. Sleepy eyed, me and my brother would be strapped into the car and we would be driven to church. Then we would sit there listening, not knowing exactly what was being said. Good times, or at least they should have been good times.

My mom and dad divorced when I was roughly 5 years old. Since then I have spent so little time with my dad it's pathetic. We don't know each other anymore, or we never did know each other to begin with. The last time we were together was disastrous. I had changed so much, yet he was the same. He expected the obedient little chubby boy that clung to his every word. I wasn't that kid, except for the chubby part. I had my own thoughts, opinions, ideas: and most of them questioned his core beliefs. Needless to say we didn't get along.

There was a time when I did live with him and his new family. The relationship that birthed my two twin half sisters Kayla and Kendra. It was an okay time for the most part, however I was going through that awkward early teen phase. The time where most boys started getting into sports and girls... I on the other hand couldn't figure out why I wasn't into those things. I was a bit pathetic back then.

All those missed opportunities to bond were interrupted by his devotion to God. I guess that's when i started hating God. It was a way to get back at both of them. Kill two birds with one stone.

I don't miss my dad anymore, I miss the idea of him. What he should of been, not what he was. The most profound memory I have is of him leaving. Which is sad in and of itself.

I was young, I have no clue how old I was. He had just dropped me off at mom's. I think he was bringing me back from summer together. Those summers we spent were few and far between and then stopped happening very quickly. I was in bed because it was late. I sat up and watched him as he crossed the parking lot and drove away. I started to cry, and cried harder then I had ever cried before. I prayed to god and wished and willed him to come back, but he kept driving away. I was left there with my mother. Who wasn't the most emotional person alive.

It still hurts when I think back to that night. I hear people say that you can't dwell on the past. I can't help it, sometimes a wound just won't heal.