The familiar sound of a door creaking open was, once again, what disturbed my sleep. Instead of jumping to conclusions, like any little girl would do, of monsters going bump in the night I knew what it was. It was scarier than any monster could ever be. It was my dad, leaving. Every night my dad would wake up at one o 'clock in the morning and get ready to go to work. Being a child I thought nothing of the strange time my dad would have to wake up at. It wasn’t strange to me. It was clockwork, a familiar routine. As if to prove my point, the bathroom lights were turned on and along came the sound of water pelting the ceramic sink. That was my cue. I wrestled with my sheets, and once free, I jumped out of bed. With the desperation that only an eight year old girl could possess at one in the morning; I yanked open my bedroom door.
Fearlessly I stalked into the dark and scary hallway; while continuing my journey to the bathroom with yellow light seeping underneath the door. I turned the brass knob- and like always, saw my father with a toothbrush in his hand and a look of exhaustion on his face. He didn’t need to turn around to
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Not because of the disappointment so evident on my parents’ faces, or because I was just a good kid with an excellent moral compass. The sole reason why I hated going to sleep angry was because of my dad. It wasn’t uncommon for me to not see my dad for a few days- due to his abnormal work schedule. When he got home from working a twelve hour shift I couldn’t find it within myself to be angry at him when he would go straight to sleep. I would go to sleep without talking to my dad and wake up for school, to find him long gone. I didn’t want to argue with my dad one night, go to sleep, and find that my last words to my dad were a disagreement. This fear was real, I saw it happen in my own family with my cousin Ricky and his dad. My worst fear wasn’t my father leaving to work but him leaving