I Lost the Chance :: Personal Narrative, Autobiographical Essay

I Lost the Chance   My father and I are made from much the same mold. As my brother resembles my mom, I resemble my father. I inherited his enjoyment for puzzles, words and wit. I share much of his eclectic musical tastes. As I get older, I see more and more of his traits consciously and subconsciously exhibited in me.   I scram spoken with my father one time in the preceding(a) 8 1/2 years.   Divorced parents are always a messy situation for the kids, and our family was no exception. My younger brother and I had our ups and downs with both parents, luckily mostly ups. The time came when my father decided that he wanted us to live with him. He was very convincing... but never convincing enough to work a commitment from us. Unfortunately, he refused to let it alone at that. I was, at the time, a sophomore in high school, my brother in eighth grade. Eventually, we cracked. Agreed to move in with him. All was right in his world. Except one thing. We could not bring ou rselves to tell my mom. Eventually, though, it happened.   A long, late-night discussion ensued with my mom, discussing the motivations for our decision, his request, and our feelings on the inbuilt matter. That discussion was the difference. As alike as my father and I are, he never gave us that choice. Despite the enormous emotional stress this sudden declaration must have put on mom, she never once tried to coerce us to stay for one reason or another... and in the subvert that is why she won.   The shoe on the other foot again, we were horribly hesitant to approach our father on the issue. One day it just happened. Were not exhalation to move in with you. I remember nearly everything about that evening. It was Thanksgiving weekend. My father told us to gather anything we wanted from his apartment. He berated us nearly the spotless drive from his place to moms house. Youll fit in well in the business world... completely cold-hearted. He pulled up and we stepped out of the car. For seven years, the last words I heard my father speak were Have a nice life as he pulled away.   Over the past four years, my brother and I have made attempts to contact him or meet with him, always with the same utter avoidance in response.