All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
The Best Worst Choice
I hear the front door open. In walks a short man with white hair. It's my father. In his hand he holds a stack of papers. He lays them on the table and begins to cry.
"Is she coming back?" I ask as I walked toward him.
"I begged her to stay," he said mournfully, "but no, she's not."
Tears ran down his face. I could tell he was heartbroken. I had no more words. I wrapped my arms around him. I was ten years old. The papers were signed, and my parents' divorce was final.
Initially, my dad was given custody of my sisters and me, so my mom could only see us on weekends. This transition was difficult at first, but we soon were accustomed to it. Going back and forth between my mother’s and father’s was not always easy, especially because they did not get along well. Although we love our father, we were much more attached to our mother.
As time passed, my mother and father both started looking for someone else to settle down with. My mother married a truck driver, Howard, that lived in Leroy. My father also found someone else. Lindy, a young woman who worked with my father, moved in with him; however, they did not marry for a while.
Things were definitely not easy at first. It took quite some time to adjust to our new family. Being forced to share a room with my stepmother’s son was not part of my plan; however, that was the least of my problems.
To this day, both of my stepparents are very strict. My stepdad loosened up over the years, but my stepmom never seemed to improve. I was convinced that she truly was the wicked stepmother, like the one from the movie Cinderella. Every day, my sisters and I were forced to do chores while her kids sat around and did nothing. We were disgusted by this. Our father, though he agreed with us, never did much about it.
Our relief came last year when my mother was given custody of us after years of court hearings.
"Finally!" I exclaimed.
I was ecstatic. My mother was speechless. I was finally able to see my mother when I wanted. No longer was I slave to my stepmother. I was free.
Today, I have more opportunities at my new school than I ever would at my old school; I have more freedom to do what I want; and, my parents are friends again. I dare say, if it weren't for my parents' divorce, I wouldn't be where I am today.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.