It's been four years since my father left us. He disappeared off the face of the earth without warning, leaving me and my mother to fend for ourselves. Now, to be completely honest, I never developed much of a bond with him anyway, so the separation between us only had a microscopic impact on my life. Even so, there are things I wish I could know about him; after all, he is still my father. Unfortunately my mother doesn't agree; she doesn't always agree. He points out that learning about my father's life wouldn't have benefited me as a teenager, but I never said it would. I simply believe that it is my right to know who is responsible for my shortcomings. I hypothesized that my father is responsible for my non-compliance with the rules and terrible memory. I mean, he left us when I was eight and I only remember his name; whose name has been forbidden in this house. Even knowing his name doesn't do me any good. He didn't have many friends in Portland, Oregon, and there seems to be no sign of him anywhere; I checked. I suppose the reason my mother refuses to talk about my father is that she's afraid he'll go off on a crazy adventure to find him. Maybe he thinks that if he hides it from me, I will forget it and lose the desire to know. But, my poor mother, I cannot give up something so important. It means too much to me to stop. Another flaw. I have the stubbornness of a bull and I am selfish like a cat.~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~It seems that the arguments between me and my mother have become almost a daily occurrence, however, I am usually the one who does most of the discussions. My mother is one of the most peaceful and calm people I have ever met. He manages to never raise his voice, even if it's hairy... middle of paper... I can't help but blame my father for the way I've acted since he left. I feel like I'm trying to fill his spot; behave as he would if he were here. I think maybe I'm starting to realize that I can never fill his place, and maybe that's a good thing. I don't think he would want me to try to be someone I'm not. If I were to take his place, it would mean I would always have to break the rules. I don't think I could do it. Honestly, I'm tired of breaking the rules. Sometimes I want to do what I'm told and stop putting on a show. I'm tired of being something I'm not. And at that moment, without thinking twice, I grabbed the brown shoes and threw them into the lake. Shoelaces swayed wildly in the air, catching the wind to save them. Then, the small waves swallowed the shoes and dragged them under, inch by inch. They soon left; just a memory.