That man

It was him. I know it. Sitting right there in the window at the bar slugging away at another beer looking just at grungy, just as evil as ever. God, he hasn't changed. I could never forget those dark drown eyes iced over with the drunken stare. The eyes that never once showed a sign of empathy or care when his big, painful hand drew back for one more swing at my mother. HE DISGUSTS ME. I hate that man. He doesn't even DESERVE a name. He doesn't earn the right to be called my father. But that is what he used to call himself. " My Father,"as if that made him ruler of all. Now he sits, waisting away in that stupid stool. HE DOESN"T BELONG HERE. He came back to MY town. I will not share anything in my life with that man ever again, especially not my town. URGG! I hate him. Just sitting, pretending he's a real man sipping away at the bar, talking to the ladies. BUT NO! A real man knows how to love and take responsibility. A real man wouldn't be a drunk.

Now, if I go back by there tomorrow and see that he is still in this town....No. Wait. I don't even want to think about it. Let's just hope that man is again gone from this city and gone forever. Otherwise, more that just that man on the roof will be singing out for Jesus.

That man is not my father and never will be. Luckily, I have Ronald. He's like a real father to me. Ronald may not live with me and I don't really see him much, but Ronald is a real man. Not that man sitting in the bar window. HE'S PITIFUL!