by Katherine Secaida
For some reason, his first arrest didn’t hit me as hard as the second one.
My father was sent to jail on January 4, 2015. I didn’t find out about that until January 8.
Not a great way to start the new year with my dad imprisoned. On the other hand, he was never around anyway.
On the morning of January 8, my mother, crying, came into my room. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “Nothing. I’m okay.”
I looked at her.
“Well,” I said, “don’t come into my room crying and when you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
She caught her breath and said something like, “You know when you break the law you have to go to jail because…”
I cut her off.
“So my dad’s in jail again?”
I wanted to cry, but then I thought, “This isn’t something new.”
I kept myself from crying, but I couldn’t keep myself from feeling sad and disappointed.
I asked my mom how long he’d been locked up. She said “four days.”
“You lied to me. You said he had changed.”
Then I caught myself and quieted down.
I’ve learned something from my father’s arrests. I learned that holding a grudge doesn’t hurt the person I’m angry at, it only hurts me. I’m the one who has to wake up every morning and try to stay positive.
“No more fears,” I told myself. “No more holding on to grudges. Stay focused. Stay positive. Look on the bright side.”
Even when I hurt.
Especially when I hurt.
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