A Life to Come

         I was only a baby when my parents got divorced, so a split family was never a big deal to me. It was the norm. I first met my father when I was 5, and visited him often afterwards. My mother was a lax, non-strict parent. I pretty much got to do whatever I wanted while I lived with her. My father, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. He was a firm believer in the “Spare the rod, spoil the child” bit. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t abusive at all, but I had to (on numerous occasions) go out and find a switch from a tree.
         A few years pass, and my mother finds herself in a pretty bad place (Dealing with asshole boyfriends and a drug problem) so I made one of the most mature decisions in my life at the age of ten. I chose to move in with my father, which was a big change, seeing as I would lose my “Get away with everything privileges.” I knew that I had to live with my dad. I knew that it would be for the best.
         So we packed up, and headed out. My father was just given a job in Clinton Oklahoma as the owner of a Hutches gas station/mechanics shop. He named the place “Paul’s 66.” I remember every morning, waking up at 5:30 a.m. to help my dad open up shop. It was inspiring to see him hopping around, doing all this work. (At this time, my dad was recovering from a broken leg.)
         Every customer who walked into his business would walk out with a big smile on their face. The reason for this was that my father would treat them like humans. He followed the golden rule more strictly than any person I have ever known. He always put others before himself, and could make the grumpiest person smile, and all of his ideals and mannerisms would be later adopted by me.
         Sadly, as a year or so passed, many people started taking advantage of my father. They would walk all over him. He would come home from work in a terrible mood. He would curse, and say that he would never help a soul again. Of course, he would return to work the next day, and still be as nice and chipper as always. My stepmother at the time was not very happy with my dad coming home in a bad mood all the time, and felt like maybe he didn’t love her or the kids anymore. I remember the day she told me she was leaving my father. I remember her telling me not to tell him. I was 11 years old.
         Everything that followed was a train wreck. My father came home to an empty house that day, with me following close behind. All that was left was his Laz-E-boy chair, and the TV. I had never seen my father cry until that point. That was one of the hardest things a young boy could deal with… or so I thought at the time.
         December rolls around, and I had just had my 12th birthday. I was so excited to spend some of my Christmas break with my mother. I was waiting in the lobby area of my dad’s business. My dad walked in and said, “Are you sure you want to stay with your mom for that many days?” Of course I said yes, because I missed her, and wanted to see the rest of the family on her side.
         I remember the look of sadness on my father’s face as I started out the door. He passively said “see you when you get back” and I responded with a playful tone saying “Don’t worry, I will be back before Christmas!” And then I left. I kept my word, and returned before Christmas…
         December 23rd, was the day I returned from mother’s home. It was seven days after my birthday, two days before Christmas. I exit my mother’s vehicle and go to the front door. It was locked, but I knew that the garage was always unlocked, so I entered through there. As that large metal door slowly moved up, I remember seeing my father’s vehicle with the door open, and the smell of exhaust escaping to the outside world. My eyes then moved to the entrance to the house from the garage. I saw my father lying on the ground. I knew something terrible had happened. All I could do was stand there. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just stood. After what felt like forever had passed, I heard a car door slam shut. I am not quite sure how my mom knew, but she came running out of her car, and yelled at me to go to the neighbors and call 911. I complied, and the rest of the night was a blur.
         At age twelve, I knew that I was going to die. It terrified me at first, and I felt so sad and helpless, but then I came to terms with it. I accepted it, and instead of letting that tear me apart, I used it. I made a vow, to myself, to my father, and to the rest of the world, that I would spend what time I had in this life, living the happiest I could, while making others just as happy. This is what led me into the art of theatre, and entertainment. I love making people laugh.
         Honestly, I do not know what the future holds for me, but I do know my goal in life. If I can entertain, or distract one person from the sadness in their life… If I can help someone who felt as alone, and helpless as I did at age twelve… Then I have done my duty in this little life of mine.