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It all started on May 1, 1992, the day I was born. My father was an alcoholic, and my mother thought the pregnancy would make him want to turn his life around. However, she was completely wrong. The closer the due date came, the more he drank. He acted like his mouth was a house on fire, and the alcohol was the fireman’s hose. My mother was worried that the stress he gave her would make her miscarry, but I survived. I was a whopping eight pounds and 3 ounces with blonde hair and blue eyes. I was the cutest baby in the whole newborn wing at the hospital, even to the father who did not want me. Everyone was so sad to see me go home three days later, whether they thought I was too cute or they knew my father wasn’t a good figure to have as a father.

It only took twenty minutes to get to our little two bedroom apartment in Appleton, Wisconsin from the hospital. I wouldn’t call the place a dump, but it certainly wasn’t extravagant by any means. Although what did I know, I was only three days old. By the time I was a week old, things started to change. My father did not see me as his cute baby boy, he saw me as a blockade to his alcohol. He spiraled back into the same alcoholic state he was in before I was born. My mother was devastated, but could not gain enough courage to leave him.

Two long months later he decided to leave us. My mother paid all the bills anyways, so the only thing he left behind was his mountain of empty bottles. It was the start of a new life for my mother and I. She took me everywhere with her like I was one of her common everyday accessories. She spoiled me every year for my birthday. I remember when I turned thirteen, she rented one of those fancy dancy party rooms, invited guests, and ordered a humongous cake. The thing I remember most though was my present, a cell phone. This opened up a whole new world for me, a dangerous one.

I set up every social media account there was for me to join, I friend requested millions of people I did not even know, and I put my business out there for everyone to see. I kept my online status updated frequently until I turned sixteen. Then, my focus began to switch from social media fanatic to everything sports. I joined the football team, and by the time I was seventeen I was deemed the captain of our team. I was pictured in the newspaper multiple times for my different athletic accomplishments, and my picture even made it to the local news on television. In my mind I felt like I was the one bright star in the darkened sky at night. My mother was so proud of me. However, my athletic fame made it easier for everyone to know exactly who I was.

On my eighteenth birthday, I thought it was going to be just like every other birthday. I was wrong. It started out with my mother waking me up with her usual hugs and kisses. It was a Saturday, so I did not have school. We went to the usual fancy dancy place my mom scheduled for my party. I socialized with all my friends, ate my humongous cake, and opened my presents. I did not get to finish opening all my presents though. All the attention was turned to my mother, who was blue as the ocean in the face. She started making erratic hand motions and fell over, unconscious. Everyone gathered around her lifeless body, others called nine-one-one. The ambulance and paramedics showed up ten minutes later. They immediately began to try to resuscitate her. They got her onto the gurney and quickly shoved her into the back of the ambulance, with sirens on they sped towards the hospital. I sat in the back with the paramedics and held onto my mother’s cold, blue hand. I kept praying that she would wake up as tears streamed down my face. It was so surreal that such an exciting day could turn so quickly.

At eight o’clock, on my eighteenth birthday, my mother was pronounced dead. I was absolutely devastated. She was the only parental figure I had growing up; she tried her best to be my mother and my father all in one person. I did not know who to turn to to grieve. I had not seen my father since I was a week old, to be honest I did not even know what he looked like. My mother hid all the pictures in the apartment of my father and rarely talked about him after he left us. So, I made the devastating journey on my own. The hospital told me that the autopsy would take a few days to complete for me to get an honest answer of how my mother died.

Two days later, while I was sitting motionlessly in my mother’s favorite chair in our apartment, the phone rang. It was the hospital. They knew what caused my mother’s death, it was brain cancer. My mother had no idea and it was already in stage four, she had no chance against it. With this news, I spiraled into a deeper depression. I did not want to play sports; I did not want to finish my senior year in high school, and I had no motivation to do anything but stay in our apartment.

Eventually, I went back to being a social media fanatic. I blogged about my depression everyday and got into things on the dark web. I wish I could have predicted the future, so I could have prevented the horrible things that happened to me.

I could not afford our apartment. My mother always took care of the bills so I would not have to worry about them. Hence, the reason I did not have a job. I did not want to go out into the real world, so I searched social media for a job. Eventually, I came across an advertisement. It said, “Changing factory locations. In need of strong men. I will pay $1000 per day. Call (888) 696-7845.” How could I have possibly turned down an offer where one week’s pay could pay off most of bills I was stuck with when my mother died. I immediately called the number. A middle aged man picked up the phone; he sounded familiar. I felt like I knew him. He said I could have the job, and I could start tomorrow morning at seven o’clock.

The next morning, I left my life-sucking apartment. I followed the directions that the man gave me on the phone to the factory. The drive was kind of eerie; it was mainly backroads. When I arrived, the factory was in the middle of nowhere up a very long driveway. The only thing surrounding it was the forest. I had a bad feeling, but I knew that I needed the money. So, I decided to continue with the plan. I parked my car, went up to the big black door, and knocked the way the man told me. He said it was his way of knowing to answer the door, since salesmen bother him all the time. Within seconds the door opened, but no one was on the other side. Blood red spray painted arrows were pointing me in my direction of travel. I came to a gigantic room with tons of pillars holding the lifted dome ceiling up. I was so in awe of the structure of the factory that I didn’t hear the man behind me.

I woke up a few hours later, tied with yellow nylon ropes to a chair. The man must of drugged me when he snuck up on me. I started screaming to get his attention. After what felt like eternity, the man walked into the room. It was my father. The last time I saw him was when I was a week old, but I found where my mother hid the pictures of him in the apartment after she passed away. Sometimes I looked through them, so now I knew what he looked like. I could not believe it. He had the whole thing planned out.

He spoke first, claiming that he could explain. I was so lost in my thoughts that I could not even mumble a noise. I let him do his explaining. He told me that he had been keeping tabs on me through my social media accounts since I was thirteen. Then he started keeping tabs on me through my athletic accomplishments. He said he was sober and had been for years. He claimed he was sorry and that he regretted leaving everyday. How could I possibly accept his pathetic apology? He barely knew me, he only knew me for the first week of my life. How could he just kidnap me and think everything would be okay? I began to verbally fight with him. He refused to untie me due to my hostility. He knew I was athletic; he knew I was strong enough to overpower him. He was afraid that I would try to dash for the door. We continued to fight. I was still tied in the chair, and he was standing a few feet away. He left for a few minutes to get us water; our throats were desperately dry from the yelling. I managed to escape from the yellow nylon ropes, but I acted like I was still tied. I wanted to trick him. When he came back, I was quick. I jumped out of the chair and charged at him. His adrenaline must have been pumping hard. He caught me, with no effort used. He wrapped me in his arms. Suddenly, I was experiencing a total different feeling.

He decided that he made the problem worse. He knew he should have contacted me in a better way. But, he also knew that I was better off without him. However, he knew that my mother died. He knew that he needed to be there for me, even if it was eighteen years later. As weird as it may be, I let him into my life. I was very cautious in the beginning and would only meet him in public places. Eventually, we started hanging out at each others’ apartments. When he had left, he had only moved a block away. Somehow my mother and I never ran into him, though. I could tell that he was really trying to make an effort to be in my life. So, I began to call him my father.

Today I am twenty-five years old. My loving mother is dead. My recovering alcoholic father is now in my life. I have a job as a bank manager. I live in an upper class apartment in the city. I keep pushing myself harder to do better. I want to be an inspiration to people. I am living proof that good can come from bad situations. My not-so-great-childhood shaped me into the successful person that I am today. I hope both of my parents are proud of me, no matter where they are or choose to be. I am who I am.