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As you all know I am on maternity leave from my blog right now, and so I have set up some awesome guest blog posts for you to read! Today’s scheduled post and guest blogger is:
Brittany Ciara @ Not Your Average Teen
Brittany is a wonderful Christian girl who is so friendly and just a beautiful person! She has a great blog where she shares her about her family and home life. I hope after you read her post, you check to her blog!
While cleaning out my English binder today at school, I ran across a journal entry we did a while back, on September 17, 2009 to be exact. The topic was this: Is it ever okay to steal? Why or why not? Here is what I wrote:
I want to elaborate on the “father” portion of this journal entry.
To start things off, I want to say that I, in no way, hate or have harsh feelings towards my father. I still love him for being who he is, my father. Father by law, by birth. However, he is not my dad. It takes a lot more from a man to be a dad. I’m a firm believer in this.
My father goes by the name of Ambrocio Gutierrez, known to the world as Bocho and known to me, along with my siblings, as the father who left. Were we heartbroken when we got the news that our parents relationship was over? I was but the little ones never understood. I was a tender 11 years old when my dad took the trip out of my life, our lives. My little sister was 5 and my little brother had just celebrated his 1st birthday. No one knows why my father did what he did except for him.
It was a chilly October day when my father walked through the door after arriving home from yet another week long trip. My father was a traveling mechanic. Our immediate reaction, as his children, was to welcome him home with a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek. This day, we got shooed away. He asked my mom if they could talk and both retreated to the bedroom. Us, as kids, thought nothing of this. We continued to watch our cartoon show and wait for our parents return. By this time, we were outside on the trampoline. We called to my father as he appeared to us. “Come watch us, daddy.” “Look, daddy, look what I can do.” Gabriel couldn’t talk. We were oblivious children, ages 11, 5 and 1. We didn’t know what was about to happen. My father didn’t listen, instead he called us to him. We ran to him, smiles on our faces, ready to jump in “daddy’s” arms and share yet another family moment. We were wrong.
My father told us he was leaving. I asked “Daddy, you just got home. When are you coming back?” His response, nothing. He reached down and lifted Gabriel in his arms, wrapped an arm around Kimberly, then pulled me towards him. Within a matter of seconds Gabriel was back on his feet and Kimberly and I were pushed gently back. He turned and walked out the door. At that time we didn’t know it was forever. But now we do.
Time went by and “daddy” never came home. Time went by and “daddy” turned into “dad.” Time went by and “dad” turned into father.
There are time when I sit and cry thinking about everything he has robbed us of. He robbed my sister and I of a dance with our father at our Quinceaneras. He robbed my sister and I of someone to walk us down the aisle on our wedding day. He robbed my litte brother out of someone to play football with. He robbed my mom of the love of her life.
And here we are six years later and we’re doing just fine. My mom is happier then ever. I’m a few months from my high school graduation. Kimberly is pursuing her dreams of becoming a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. And Gabriel, sweet little Gabriel, is learning to live his life just fine with my grandfather and older cousins as his father figures. We are all one big happy family, whether our father is part of it or not. So I will leave you with this:
I hope I didn’t cause too many tears with this post. It has just been on my mind ever since I saw the long forgotten journal entry hidden within my English binder. I am asking for prayers for my father. To protect him wherever he may be. He now resides in the small town of Juarez, Mexico. Devastating things have been happening there since the drug war stared, I have lost two uncles due to the war. You can read a little about it here. I also ask that you pray for the residents of Juarez, for their well being and safety. Have you ever been in a situation like this? Something related in someway? Comment and let me know, I would love to hear your stories.
Thank you Brittany for sharing your heart. Please go and check out her other posts on her blog!
hmmm it's a little prideful of you to write "I hope I didn't cause too many tears with this post."
really, more people than you know have lost their fathers. i grew up with mine living in another state, seeing him once a month.
my sisters' father will never get to meet my sisters because he spent their infancy in jail for child molestation, and now he is not allowed within 100 miles of their home.
i am so sorry that your father left you but still. it makes me bristle to read that.