The Little Things Add Up.

I used to at least have a semi-good relationship with my dad. Meaning, in between fights, we were on good terms. I suppose the fights weren't so explosive back then either, because I was afraid of him, me being a little kid. Around fifth/sixth grade, we moved, and that's around when things started deteriorating. We'd argue all the time, over the littlest things. I remember at one point, I was so stressed out that even though we hadn't really fought recently, I just burst out crying when I was alone. The first time I went to summer camp, I had an amazing time, because he wasn't around to oppress me. But when I got home and we started fighting every day or so, I couldn't help and cried before I could make it to my room.
Any time something minor in his life goes wrong, it has to be my fault. I watched a movie today, and when he came in to watch TV and the input was set to the VCR, he started yelling at me for 'trying to break the TV so he couldn't watch it.' I haven't seen my friends this summer because if I want to go somewhere, he finds something little in the past week to 'punish' me for.
My dad comes to a lot of my extracurricular things, and while he's there he starts conversations about how I don't get out much, and shares personal things in front of me. Because we're in public I have to play along like I'm not upset, too.
I've always gotten along with my mom, and I love her very much. But she's a book parent, so she believes she should always take the other parent's side. So, every time my dad and I fight, it drives a wedge in between me and her. I like to think I'll just cut my dad out of my life when I'm eighteen, but I'm afraid that would include my mom. 
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Jul 11, 2010