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I looked at my father and he looked at me. “Why did you do it?” he asked. I burst out in anger, “Why can?t I do it?” Red with rage, he slapped me hard. I touched my burning cheek, staring hard at him, whose face was turned away from mine.
Then I noticed my mother sobbing beside him. I softened as my feelings overpowered me. I had never been slapped before. My parents had never tried to understand me and neglected me, like I was a child they had never wanted. They paid attention to me only when I asked for something and I got almost everything, except their love. They were always busy with work and I often reasoned with myself that they were doing this for a good life for me. It was hard to believe that.
I let out a sob of frustration, tears of sadness running down my cheeks. Being the richest among my friends, I showered them with gifts, a small price to pay for their constant companionship. However, they were troublemakers who tried to involve me with their misdeeds. I always managed to escape, being the innocent one, until now. They had convinced me to take my first cigarette and policemen nearby caught us. I could not escape because of the cigarette?s strong smell. It was a small offence to my friends, a big one to my parents and an eye opener for me.
My father was raged, my mother was crying, and I saw that they actually cared about my doings. They were concerned for me after all. With a hint of tears in his eyes, my father turned to my weeping figure and asked once again, in a warm voice, “Why did you do it?” As I began to reveal my feelings, my mother hugged me and healed where it hurt the most. I guess I did it to get their assurance of love for me.