The Experience of Living Without a Father

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I Will Never ForgetI could still vividly recall the events that took place on that day, on the 24th of July 2002, as if they were engraved at the back of my mind. It was on the streets of Brooklyn where we used to live, my mother and I. My father had passed away one year after I was born.

Thus the experience of living without a father had already developed in me, and if I could say, I was “strong enough” to bear this weight. My mother always urged me that even though I was to play, I should always be in the house by dusk. Not once did we hear police sirens outside our windows at night of police engaging in pursuit with either a robber who had a stolen car or just the normal female “social workers” who used to trade their bodies for money so that they could at least, put something on the table.It was on a Saturday morning, of course, one of the happiest days of many of my kind who knew that they did not have to go to school but play in the sand and get a chance to dirt their clothes in the mud.

I was happy, yes but little did I know that this day will turn out to be one of the worst days I have ever experienced. There I was with my best friend, Jonas Michelson. We had woken up early that day since on the previous night my beloved mother came home with the remote toy car, that I was so eager to show my friend. Nine O’clock, when the sun was barely up, we were there testing the vehicle when a black vehicle pulled up near our dear neighbor’s house, Steve Rocky. Most of the people knew by this name though it was not his real name.

Steve used to sell hardcore drugs, something that I came to tell of years after I had completed my lower classes.We were so busy to notice that the two people who came from that vehicle were policemen each holding his pistol in his hand. For sure, they had searched for Steve for a long while and for those who were not as keen would have never noticed that Steve was working with the most significant cartels in New York. For sure Steve was so sharp to have seen that these two people were sent there to put him behind bars, but for sure, he was not for the idea, at least not today.

No sooner had they reached for the doorknob, than the door flung wide open. This caught our attention, as the police officers had already started shouting at him, ordering him to stop. Nonetheless, Steve was determined not to raise the white flag so easily. He was on top of his heels. In the blink of an eye, Steve was on the floor, his half-blown off head lying next to my car. Blood was oozing profusely from the dead guy, a site that even those of the most active hearts would never love to see. His brain was also lying there inside the skull.

This was the time when my mother saved us both from our misery and took us straight to the house, but what you have seen, you cannot unsee. These images left me traumatized as I was only seven years of age when I experienced all this.

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The experience of living without a father. (2019, Sep 05). Retrieved from

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