Children Begin by Loving Their Parents; as They Grow Older They Judge Them; Sometimes They Forgive Them.

Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.
My favorite memory of my father is a bright spring morning, where the sunlight was shiny and squeaked when you came to fast around a corner. I had just turned five, and was wearing my pink flowery dress as we had just come back home from family get together. I can recall the sway of the ruffled hem, and the tiny, almost transparent hat on my head. We were playing a game of hide and seek in our beautiful flower garden. My father sneaked up behind me and pulled me to his shoulders, my dress lifting in the breeze as I giggled. Despite my father’s aching back, at the age of 45 or so, he played wit me and lifted me up in the air on many occasions. He was so proud since I had grown an inch taller.
It has been 11 years now since my mother had died. Both my parents had been involved in an accident, unfortunately my mothers injuries were too severe and there was nothing the doctors could do. I blamed my father for the death of my mother since he had been under the influence of alcohol while the accident had taken place. I had jus turned 16 that year, and was influenced by my friends to run away from home. My parents were extremely worried about me. It was while they were looking for me when they had met with an accident. I knew then, as I know now, that I helped drive father to drinking. I will never forgive myself for that. What was a problem we might have resolved exploded, and home was never home again. He could not be the same father to me anymore. He became angry and aggressive since the death of my mother. We both blamed each other for her death. If I never had ran away from home and if he had never been under the influence of alcohol while driving, my mother would have still been alive.
In my mind my father is still the vibrant, witty and a private man that raised me, the man so steadfast in his love and devotion for my mother that I have never once heard a complaint or regret over their life together. A man who did whatever, anything, he could do for me. I know my father has many faults, faults that have sliced me in hidden places. My father has consumed alcohol various times. He has not always been the best father and has not always treated me well. But grief shows itself in many forms. What we have been to each other are companions on a road I wish on no one.