My Father Essay

When I was a child my father meant the world to me. We had a strong unique bond that only a father and son could possibly have. Although there were moments where we annoyed one another and argued we still loved each other dearly. Since my father was the pastor he would drag me and the rest of my family with him to every church service being held at our church. As you can probably imagine the idea of waking up early on a day off from school wasn’t all that appealing to me. So every Sunday morning I would reluctantly go to each church service. Attending each church service caused me to see my father in a different light than I did at home. I saw him caring for the elderly, praying for and with people who were troubled in various areas of

After seeing this side of my father for many years I slowly began to see my father as a person who could do no wrong. I was fully convinced that he was 100% selfless and had a deep love for me and our family that would never fade and would never do anything that would hurt us. Needless to say that my depiction of the type of person my father was not entirely accurate. I realized how wrong I was on a Thursday night in the middle of autumn. I was seven years old at the time eating the dinner my mother had brought home for us. Accompanying me was my younger cousin Zyon (who was four), and my older brother Corey (who was around the age of sixteen). At first, me and Zyon were peacefully enjoying our meal until it was interrupted by my older brother’s sudden outbursts. He screamed out loud “Oh hell no!” and sprinted towards my parents’ bedroom. His random loud outburst and sprinting caught me and my younger cousin completely off guard. The moment my brother reached our parent 's door he immediately began to bombard the door with furious swings of his clenched fists. Shortly after striking the door several times he yelled “get up off my mother!” and was

Luckily my mother showed no sign of being harmed but the situation was only about to get worse. The outbursts and threats that came out of my brother’s mouth prior to the door opening infuriated my father and made him feeling challenged my mother yelling “stop don’t do it!” The words that came out of my father’s mouth afterword’s still to this very day boggles my mind. He went on and on about how he planned to shoot my brother! My mind experienced so many different emotions swirling around on the inside of it. My father, the one who I thought loved us, and would protect us was acting totally out of character. My mother threw herself between the two of them to try and prevent a confrontation from occurring. My first instinct was to grab Zyon and our house phone and head toward the bathroom the only room in the house with a lock that was accessible at the time. At that point I didn’t know what was going to happen, nor did I know what I should do. Should I call the police on my own father, I mean there’s no way of knowing if he’d actually hurt somebody, but then again what if he did? Luckily for us the