I joined the tennis team in 7th grade, the first grade that they allow tennis as an option for your athletic credit. One day we had a tournament in College Station against Console middle school to which my father was supposed to attend and pick me up from once it was over. These were something like less than an hour long so it wasn't that big of a deal that my father missed it. The reason why my father didn't attend was because he went to the wrong school. He went to Console High vs Console Middle. I believe after arriving at the wrong school and being mentally incapable of basic tasks he stayed there and eventually went home. This was the problem with not having cell phones to where once the tournament ended I asked my friend Stefan's dad if I could use his flip phone to call my mom. I called and she informed me that my father went to the wrong school and that she would be there to pick me up. I was the last kid to be picked up from the tournament to where the coach had to stay with me for thirty minutes or so. Once my mom arrived we thanked the coach and I got into the backseat of my mom's suburban with my father being in the front passenger. Neither of them said sorry for not picking me up or going to my tournament and this really hurt. It felt kind of like shame and singled out in a negative way to be the last one to leave so as I got in the car I held back tears. I was 12 years old at the time and I knew if I dropped a single tear she would scold me and tell me to stop and grow up. My brother got to be raised by my father at his best, while I and my sister were exposed to the worst and Wesley has no idea or acceptance.
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Searching for the Answer
Non-FictionThis is a compilation of stories involving childhood abuse and trauma through a first-person impactful perspective mostly chronological. It is my story and is not fabricated in any way. I am posting just to get feedback thank you.
