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My Father stopped seeing my sister and me when I was twelve years old. We adored our father, but his new family seemed very unpromising. Every weekend my father and his wife's brutality continued. We were welcomed with disgusted looks from my stepmother and my father's belt. My sister and I didn't have to break the rules in order to be punished; all we had to do was be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It didn't help that we were held responsible for their unstable marriage. My father could have chosen any second to stop the manipulation, but he never once made the effort. I watched my stepmother beat the innocents out of my sister, while my father told me that my mother was a whore, and that she could never provide a decent life for her daughters. My father and his wife would try to encourage us to move in with new toys, and having are own bedrooms. They wanted us only for the child support; we were also to blame for their financial problems. I never could say a word. I never had the strength to fight back. I assumed, like any child, that there were no other alternatives. I began to believe my sister deserved to be beaten, my mother was a whore, and I wanted to move in.

When my father was still picking us up for his visits, we would beg my mother to not let him take us over there. My mother knew that my father and his wife would scold us, but she never knew what was really happening. We knew no matter what we said we were going over there. But, for that one-hour drive to his house it was daddy and his girls. I still think that is why we went back every time; that hour drive was filled of possibilities, or maybe even an apology. Of course the feeling diminished once we entered the driveway. But I tried not to be so pessimistic about going over there, besides I had no choice. Even if I did try to get out of his weekends, he would show up anyway, and the ride to his house would not be so pleasant after all.

I'll never forget about the last time that my father was supposed to pick us up. You could usually hear his wife's car chugging down the road, but all I could hear that day was the kids a crossed the street laughing, and cheering as their parents tossed them into their new pool. SureI was jealous. We hung around for three hours waiting for him to drive up. Then I made two phone calls to his house; still no sign of dad. Lucky for us we had a freebee weekend with mom. Not even fifteen minutes later, we dropped the thought that it was even his weekend in the

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