The year was 1998. Life had already been changing around me, or perhaps it was just my perception of life that was changing. Maybe it was always so messed up and I was only coming to understand just how much. My mom and dad fought, but I never thought that it was abnormal because it was normal in my home. My dad would drink and then my parents would argue. My dad would become aggressive and throw things. I remember one fight in particular. I had to have been merely four years old and the memory is faded now but I remember my dad throwing the phone. It was one of those tan, rotary style phones that were common in every home. You don’t see those types of phones anymore. He threw the phone at the kitchen floor and it shattered. I remember crying. “I loved that phone” I sobbed to my mother. Shortly after the phone incident my mind grasped on to a comment that my dad said to my mom. “I will kill you”. It scared me tremendously when he said it and I believed him. Late one night I woke up and light was gleaming in through the crack of my door. The light was coming in from the kitchen. I could hear my dad talking and rambling on. Then I heard a laugh. The laughing was loud and boisterous and coming from a woman. My heart sank into my stomach when I realized that this laugh did not belong to my mother. My four year old mind raced and raced. Where was my mom? Did she know that there was another woman in our home? Who was this woman? All at once, my heart sank even deeper and my stomach turned. He did it. He killed her. My mom is dead. I laid there in bed and cried. When I had finally mustered up the courage to face the fact that my mom was gone and my dad brought some new woman to take her place, I walked into the kitchen and could barely see the woman sitting at the table with my dad. I couldn’t see much through the tears. The only words that would come out, “Where is mom”? In an instant my mom burst out of her bedroom and took me in there with her. I can’t remember if I told her what I thought and why I was crying then and the rest of that night is still a blur. It was that night that my feelings for my dad began to change. At age four. I look at my daughter now, who is three, and I pray to God that she never has to experience the feelings that I felt back then. Of course there were more and more fights throughout the years, but none that stick out as much as the first few memories that I have of them.