“At least I’ve got a Dad”
The words hit me like a slap around the face. I dropped my lunch in the playground and stood there speechless. I was mad. Really mad. At Emma? No, not really. I didn’t have a Dad. I was so upset when I realized the harsh reality of my life. I had been happily going through life in my own little world where everything was ok and no one could hurt me. Little did I know that the barrier that protected me was about to come crashing down. After that incident when he called I wouldn’t talk. If he didn’t want to see me why should I speak to him? He stopped calling me soon after that but I didn’t notice. After all in my mind, I had never had a Dad.
Then came the news that would affect me for the rest of my life. I was ten years old and I had completely forgotten that I even had a Father. It was the middle of August 1998 and when I woke up the house was eerily silent. I went downstairs and my mum sat me straight down on the couch I could tell she’d been crying. I could hear what sounded like sobbing coming from the next room. By this point I was panicking and thinking of all the things that could have happened but of all the nightmares I envisioned, nothing came close to the news I was about to receive. She didn’t pussyfoot around, she got straight to it.
“It’s about your Dad,” she paused to take a deep breath
“He passed away last night”
I felt as though someone had ripped out my heart and sat on it. I didn’t speak.
“He had cancer.”
From then onwards my entire attitude changed. The loud and confident girl that I had been vanished and I became a shy and quiet girl who kept myself to myself. We moved out of the house we had been living in for seven years supposedly because my mother felt she needed a change but we all knew it was because of the painful memories that house held for us all. We didn’t move far but it was far enough.
I stopped visiting my old neighborhood as I didn’t have any friends there and it hurt to see the places where I grew up. All of the memories, good and bad just didn’t feel a part of me anymore. But one day when we were driving home from a weekend out of town and my mum stopped the car to get some milk. It was dark and I couldn’t make out where I was until I saw that I was parked just across the road from my old house and right next to the sidewalk on which I nearly lost my best friend forever. Once I saw the pet shop, all the memories came flooding back.
It was a Saturday in early May and I was about six years old. My mum had two of her friends round for coffee and I was at home waiting for my best friend Jenny to come by. She was on the park across the road from my house with her sister who was supposed to help Jenny cross the main road that separated us. But she didn’t. She wanted to stay with her friends so Jenny decided to come alone. She went to the sweet shop and then stood by the roadside. At this point, I was in my front garden playing with my dog, and I was wondering where she was I stood up to look over the wall. All I saw was the impact of the car hitting her face. She had looked out to see if anything was coming and unfortunately, a car was. I screamed and my mum came running out of the house. Luckily her friend Barry was a paramedic and he had his kit in his car, which he went to get. People were surrounding her and Barry had to fight his way through the crowds to get to her. My mum rang Sue, Jenny’s Mother, and then took me over to see her. Her face was covered in blood and she just lay there on the floor. Hot tears pricked my eyes like needles and I couldn’t hold them in. Barry cleaned her up as well as he could and Sue arrived shortly after, along with the ambulance. She was put onto a stretcher and taken away. Mum was telling me to look at the picture of the dog in the pet shop window to try to stop the tears. The next time I saw Jenny she had stitches all over her face and no front teeth. She looked terrible. She still had scars today even though it was nearly ten years ago. They’ll never fade, so now whenever I see her I am reminded of the day in which my best friend was very nearly killed right in front of my eyes.
Not all my memories are bad though; I’ve got a lot of happy ones. I’ve loved horses all my life and had my first lesson when I was seven. I was happy learning at riding school but I always dreamed of having a pony of my own. When I was twelve, that dream came true. Megan was delivered on October 1st 2000. It was one of the happiest moments in my life. I went to my first show when I was thirteen and I came home with three rosettes I was ecstatic. Especially when I beat the most well-known and respected rider in Lowestoft – Francesca Kirk-Pickering. I was so proud.
Other great memories include; my aunties wedding when I was nine, the family holiday to Greece when I was eleven and my thirteenth birthday party. All of these are times I will never forget. These are all things that have shaped my attitude over the years and the way I treat others. Although the sad memories have hurt me in the past and had left me with permanent mental scars, I wouldn’t change a thing as all my experiences, good or bad have made me what I am today.