It's been four years since my father left us. He disappeared off the face of the earth without warning, leaving my mother and I to fend for ourselves. Now, to be completely honest, I never really developed a bond with him anyway, so the separation between us only had a microscopic impact on my life. Despite everything, there are things I would like to know about him; after all, he is still my father. Unfortunately, my mother disagrees; she still doesn't agree. She argues that knowing about my father's life would be of no use to me as a teenager, but I never said that would be the case. I simply believe that it is my right to know who is responsible for my faults. I theorized that my father was responsible for my non-compliance with the rules and my terrible memory. I mean, he left us when I was eight and I only remember his name; whose name has been banned in this house. Even knowing his name is of no use to me. He didn't have many friends in Portland, Oregon, and there doesn't seem to be a trace of him anywhere; I checked. I guess the reason my mother refuses to talk about my father is because she's afraid I'll go on a crazy adventure to find him. Maybe she thinks that if she hides it from me, I will forget and lose the desire to know. But, poor mother, I can't just give up on something as important as this. It means too much for me to stop. Another flaw. I have the stubbornness of a bull and I am as selfish as a cat. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ It seems that arguments between my mother and I have become almost a daily occurrence, however, I am usually the one arguing the most. My mother is one of the calmest, calmest people I have ever met. She manages to never raise her voice, even though she's in fur...... middle of paper...... I can't help but blame my father for the way I acted since his departure. I feel like I'm trying to fill his place; act as he would if he were here. I think, maybe, I'm starting to realize that I can never fill his place, and maybe that's a good thing. I don't think he would want me to try to be someone I'm not. If I were to take his place, it would mean I would have to break the rules all the time. I don't think I could do that. Honestly, I'm tired of breaking the rules. Sometimes I want to do what I'm told and stop putting on a show. I'm tired of being something I'm not. And at that moment, without another thought, I grabbed the brown shoes and threw them into the lake. The laces flailed wildly in the air, clinging to the wind to save them. Then the small waves engulfed the shoes and pulled them away, inch by inch. Soon they disappeared; just a memory.