My b’nai mitzvah wasn’t all fun and exciting. Sometimes things could get almost upsetting. For instance, I remember a beautiful spring night in May on my own birthday, at a gorgeous place right next to Rockland Lake, all my friends surrounding me in my royal blue dress, dancing to the music. Guests constantly came up to me saying, “You look gorgeous Samantha!”, “I love your dress”, “Oh my god your makeup is stunning!”. I heard those about 20 times. I remember eating delicious food such as dumplings, cotton candy, mini cheeseburgers and my favorite, ice cream!I loved watching  my grandma and grandpa dancing with all of my friends when Sweet Caroline started playing. A smile lasted on my face for the entire night until the father and daughter dance. A slow song began to play as I walk onto the dance floor while all my friends and other guests begin to sit at their assigned tables. I see my brother grab my moms hand and my sister grab my grandpa's hand. I began to wonder where my dad was since this was the father and daughter dance. I stood there alone on the dance floor at my own party with no one to dance with. I remember my face turning bright red, I was so embarrassed. Everyone was staring at me with no one to dance with and all I wanted to do was run and cry, but I didn’t. My dad and mom were kind of separated at the time but never fully got divorced so I wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t here with me on the most special moment of the night. My grandpa whispers to my sister but I can hear clearly, “I am going to dance with Sami”. My heart ached. Then half way through the song my dad enters the room reeking of cigarettes but at the time I didn’t think much of it, I mean I was 13. We danced for half of the song. I was upset for the rest of the night and just wanted the night to end. My mom was very angry at my dad for what he just did but that was my party and my birthday and I needed to make the most of it. On that occasion the B’nai Mitzvah was like starting a new life as an adult. But I still felt like a child. I’m 16 years old, and a junior in high school now, and my b’nai mitzvah has been over for 4 almost 5 years. Even though when I look back at that very special night, I had so much fun with my family and friends but I can never get that embarrassing moment out of my head. I sit at this computer and stare through my words and watch my phone as text messages from my dad appear after not speaking with him for a couple of months or realizing he doesn’t even have the time to text or call me. As I write about these things, the remembering is turned into a kind of rehappening. The texts stop coming through, and as a tear starts to escape my eye I wonder if he is going to text or try to contact me again. I am always telling myself, is this really my dad, and why do I still love him after everything he has done to me and my family? The upsetting stuff never stops happening; it lives in its own dimension, replaying itself over and over. But my dad wasn’t all that way. Like when I was upset he would pick me up and tickle my belly to stop me from crying or when I was stressed or just bored he would always make me laugh so hard I would almost pee myself every single time. If I wasn’t doing stuff with friends or my family, I was wondering how someone could be such an awful father and how someone with kids could be so selfish. I was scared that I did something wrong to make him be this way, that him not being a good enough dad was my fault.

I feel lost sometimes. 16 years old and I’m still writing stories about my horrible dad and what he has done to me, I guess I should stop and try and forget. But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget. What sticks to memory, often, are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end. Like when I was little he would pick me up everytime he saw me and when I grew up, he constantly asked if I have a boyfriend or any friend drama, which he still does. Or around Christmas time when my dad would bring me in his car to drive around and look at all the pretty christmas lights and we would rate them from best to worse. Or the time when my dad and mom would argue and I would hear every single fight since my room was right next door. I remember these things, too. A beautiful flower bouquet he bought my sister and I for Valentines Day. A gorgeous day at the beach down at the Jersey Shore listening to my dad's corny jokes. 16 years old, and the bat mitzvah occurred half a lifetime ago, and yet the remembering makes it now. And sometimes remembering leads to a story, which makes it forever. That’s what stories are for. Stories are for joining the past to the future.