THE CONTINUING SAGA OF GROWING UP.

mother and girlsThis story is from my archives.  It is a continuing story, memoir or autobiography of my life as I remember it.  I am repeating a section of it here today, because I can’t think of anything for today’s assignment, even though I have wracked by brain to think of something close to what we are supposed to do. 

So, hope you enjoy it and I will do the next in the series of, “Growing Up” just to close this particular section.  And I will also do tomorrow’s assignment on time or at least try to.

GROWING UP

I was fourteen years old when my father left for the last time, at least we hoped it was the last time. Life resumed its normal rhythm and we managed to get through that Summer in much the same way that we were used to. Although my sister, who was sixteen now, had quit school in tenth grade to work full-time. She then changed her mind after working in a factory for a while and decided to go back to school and graduate.
My mother was glad even though there would be less money coming in now; she thought it was more important to graduate. I was a freshman now and considered myself quite grown up and should be able to do whatever I wanted. My mother, easygoing as she was most times, had other ideas about that. I was not a problem in my teens like some other of my peers and since I was responsible and helped out at home, my mother trusted me.

I was still working at the coke and jukebox place for the rest of that Summer and paying for my expenses at school, so I was pretty independent. One day as I was working with the one other waitress who was also on duty, guess who walks into the place with a big smile on his face? My father! I hadn’t seen him since the big blow up between himself and my mother a few months ago, when he stormed out with my mother’s encouragement. That was over my sister having her sixteenth birthday party in our basement, which he was adamantly against. We hadn’t heard from him since that time and he had never even said goodby when he left and here he was waltzing in here to see me. Not sure what he was after but I was having none of it.

He sat down at the counter and I anxiously tried to get Trudy, the other waitress, to wait on him but she said she was too busy. So I, against my better judgement, walked over to where he was sitting. He was sitting at the counter in spite of several empty booths and without even saying hello, I asked what he wanted. He had a funny smile on his face as though he knew I wanted to slap him, now that I was big enough. He was only about five feet six, with a slight build although he had a lot more muscle tone than I did. He was always exercising and lifting weights and I am sure even though I was five feet five at the time, not much shorter than he, I was in no shape to be challenging him. My mouth was another story.

He said he would have a hamburger and french fries. “Oh crap” I thought, “he wants me to cook for him. Damn!” I really was angry at him and now I had to cook something and serve him. I went into the kitchen and started banging around and making a lot of noise. First of course I had to pour him a cup of coffee, which had been sitting there for hours and I knew how he liked it freshly made or he wouldn’t drink it. So I got some satisfaction from that. He didn’t say anything about it though. He just sat there with that sickening smile. I continued banging around in the kitchen and finally I came out and slammed the plate down in front of him. I walked away and went over to Trudy and she was looking at me with a, “What’s the matter with you,” look on her face. I couldn’t explain who he was to her, not while he was still sitting there.

 

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