Dad's not home

By: Jen Lopez

For most of my life, I grew up without a dad. Yes, he lived with us, but was he really there?

Whenever I get asked about my parents and whatnot, I am very quick to state that I don’t have a dad. He’s perfectly alive, don't worry, he was just never there, emotionally or physically.  

I remember most of my childhood as it was just my mom with us. I grew up with two siblings whom I barely had a good bond with, but it’s different now; we actually kind of get along. 

From the start, my dad was already ruining his relationship with his family, cheating on my mom, and leaving constantly to go back to Mexico. He left once again when I was born, so I didn’t really grow up with him there, but that isn’t something I remember. It still hurt knowing that he couldn’t even stay for me. 

Even with growing up, he was hardly ever home. Whether it was the weekend or just weekdays, I rarely saw him. My dad would constantly drink,  leave the house just to do so, I never knew where exactly he went, but he would come home drunk late at night. It really just got worse throughout the years, even after moving. 

I hoped that after we moved, the issue would be lessened. It was a routine for him to go out and drink with his friends, and come home drunk at like three or four in the morning. When he came home my mom would get out of bed and yell at him for coming home late, it would just blow out into a huge argument. There were multiple experiences of their fights that I have memories of.

It would be even worse when it was Saturday, when my mom would go to work for her second job. 

Whenever he was left to take care of us while my mom was at work, he would just get up and leave, we assumed it was just outside with his friends, never really knowing if he left the apartments or not. 

My mom would always call us during work, checking up on us, on my dad. “Dad’s not home.” my sister replied to my mom. An answer she was so used to hearing, that I would always accept. I would get anxiety from the thought of him just coming home late, drunk, and starting a fight with my mom.

It got worse as time went on, so bad that it led us to losing our mom for a week–not really a story for right now–it felt more like years. I have never been away from my mom for so long, and especially having my dad in charge of us for so long. 

You would think that we would all end up getting help from everything going on, or from what happened, but surprisingly enough, I was somehow the only one who ended up needing “help.” My mom signed me up for at home therapy sessions. Now I understand that it could be because I’m the youngest and might have had the strongest effect from everything, but I couldn’t help but get upset at the fact that my parents weren’t even getting help. 

Over time, things were shifting in a weird way, I’m not sure how to explain it, but it came to a point where my mom had enough with my dad’s problems. One random night, I walked into the living room and saw my parents discussing or arguing, I couldn’t really tell. 

“Quiero que te vayas. (I want you to leave.)” I hear my mom say. Is it finally happening? Are we finally doing something about it? I just kept thinking about how relieving the apartment would finally feel. 

Currently, we are doing better, not having to worry whether he’s leaving, coming back late, or just making the environment worse. I personally feel at ease, not getting anxious about how he comes home. It doesn’t feel too different without him living with us, It genuinely feels the same just without the worries. 

As I stated, it always felt as though I never really had a dad, so him finally leaving us wouldn’t have an affect on how I would feel, if anything I was glad for the change. 

I’m glad for this change. I’m content with my mom and siblings, and I have people that want to be in life. It’s enough for me to not find myself longing for my dad’s presence anymore.