<p>Okay, so after a lot of hard work yesterday, I finally rewrote parts of my essay, taking into consideration what all of you said. For those of you who have already read it, don't think you shouldn't read it again because it will be the same with a few different words. It's not. I decided to completely rewrite three of the five paragraphs and I'm curious to see whether you guys think I made the essay better or worse. Here it goes....</p>
<p>Kirkuk suicide blast kills 19."
My heart dropped, my head spun, and shivers ran down my spine. One word from a stranger on television and I felt like Id been punched in the stomach. For the millions of other people watching this story, it meant nothing, but for me, those five words had the ability to turn my life upside down. Thats what it was like for the six months my dad was in Kirkuk, Iraq. Every time the city was mentioned on the news, I froze, hoping that it was someone else and not my dad. I prayed every night that he would return safely and every time there was a report on the news that a soldier had been killed in a bomb blast in Kirkuk, I held my breath until I heard from him.
I never would have imagined that the absence of my dad would affect me as much as it did. Because of my parents divorce and my dads drinking problem we had never been as close as we could have been. When I was a little girl I didnt realize that my dad even had a drinking problem. I found out by mistake, when my mom picked me up from my dads house one Sunday afternoon when I was seven. He walked me out to the car to say goodbye and as we were driving away, my mom asked me if he was drunk again. I could tell by the look on her face as she saw the look on mine that she knew she had made a mistake. All my life my mom had been the one to make up for the absence of my dad. When he forgot my birthday she would make excuses for him and when I cried because he never told me he loved me, she always reassured me that he did. But her mistaken words in the car that day finally provided me with the explanation I had been searching for my entire life to explain my dads behavior. In a way it was a relief, but at the same time an added burden. As we grew more and more distant and his interest in my life dwindled, I wished that he would just disappear. I can honestly say that for the greater part of my childhood I didnt love my own father.
However, all of that changed one Sunday afternoon, when for the first time in quite a while, my dad actually started talking to me. Really talking to me, not just one of our typical hows school conversations. But the words he was saying made no sense. Iraq. Leaving in September. Im Sorry. I love you. What? I had imagined my dad apologizing to me and telling me he loved me for a very long time, practically all my life, but I had never imagined it being like this. The first thought that came to my mind was that he was exaggerating, another one of his habits that made me lose my respect for him. But the one time that I wanted what he told me to be an exaggeration, it wasnt. It was actually the truth.
That September, as I began my Junior year in high school, I also said goodbye to my dad. As my friends thought about what they would wear the first day of school or how hard the classes would be, I thought about whether or not I would ever see my dad again. Suddenly Sundays, the same Sundays I had despised as a little girl because I had to go to my dads house, became unbearable because I couldnt go to my dads house. As the fact that he really wasnt here sank in, I realized how much I really do need him. Looking back, it seems ironic that it took a war to bring us closer together.
When my dad came home, safe, and held me in his arms, I realized that on some level he really does love me. He may not show his love like other dads, but that doesnt mean that it doesnt exist. While my dad hasnt changed much since he came home, I have. All those years I spent despising having to go to his house actually ended up teaching me one of the most important lessons I have ever learned. Today, instead of hating my dad because of his drinking problem and wondering why he couldnt be more like other dads, Ive learned to simply accept him the way he is, imperfections and all. Of course I worry about the effect that his drinking will have on his health, but at the same time I realize that when hes ready to change, he will. Having to accept my dad for who he is, not who I wish he was, has been hard, but it has prepared me, more than anything else, for what life will really be like.</p>