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Shelly Gonzalez Professor Lindemann English 1301 July 10, 2003 It’s hard to remember what it was like to have my mother and father in the same room for than five minutes. My parents have been divorced for eight years now. If you asked anyone who knew them they would probably say it had been over for many years before that. My mother would go further and just say, “Man, he’s been an ass to me right from the start.cheated on, lied to, taken for granted, and it’s always just been me and the kids wherever we go. He’s never around, that piece of shit!” She was the one who was perpetually let down, and she sure let my father know with who, with what, when, where at, and why he was a disappointment to her. It was just about the only kind of interaction she enjoyed with him. My mother: a very strong, loud, hotheaded. I mean red-headed, scary (to some people), doesn’t put up with anything type of person was playing the“victim.” My mother was always a teacher when she wasn’t a stay-at-home mom. There was no escaping her; she was there in the morning, after school, weekends, vacations, plus all summer long. The word privacy didn’t even exist in her house much less respecting it. Plus, she wasn’t the one to go have dinner with friends or even call them to talk; therefore, I was the one she vented to regularly, responsible to actually listen to this caddy drama, and try to make some sense out of it to explain it to her.
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