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  • Typical Saturday afternoon, except:
    no siblings
    no communications
    no mom
    yes dad

    It's that time of year, and that kind of Saturday that just shouts "Cramcramcram more information, more dates, more time, more REVIEWING there is no time. Finals are creeping up on you".
    So, as any ([ir]responsible) teenager's attention span lasts... there is the grab-a-math-book-and-attempt-to-read-even-though-you'd-rather-not (phase), where suddenly water drooping at slow motion pace is fascinating, the stillness of time becomes even more marvelous, and the sound of trees' leaves rustling against each other resonate in your ears in high-definition.

    So, after hours stuck in that stage of the study schedule- my dad says, "Hey, let's go out to eat wherever you want, to put a stop to those fumes pouring out of your head".

    -
    Upon having indulged greatly on better-than-life pizza at Pizzeria Uno with my dad, I felt quite satisfied. We were reliving our glory days when after the after-school program ended, he used to take me on these wonderful Father-Daughter dates to Chili's, as we still call them, to just talk [and maybe sit on a tall chair at the bar portion of the restaurant because it made me feel bigger, and my legs were in mid-air].

    When we're sitting in our seats in the car, I continue reading Mockingjay, he takes a phone call from a client, and a comfortable silence replaces our words for minutes. No pressure. Later, he decided to fish for a topic and settled on high school; I wanted to catch a glimpse of how it was for him, where he stood, how he's changed. My dad was kind of a jock, he played volleyball throughout most of high school; he was shy, very much, but quite sociable at the same time. A bit of a ladies' man, according to himself; I've attempted to tell this to my mom, but oddly enough, she refuses to believe him. I asked him about peer pressure.

    He divulged this with me: He was fifteen years old when he first snuck out of the house. My grandfather was Hitler reincarnated, minus any actual deaths caused, back in the day, meaning there was a strict No Party on a School Night policy. My father had been waiting for the upcoming party for weeks now, so he could let loose and socialize with friends, meet girls, and have his first drinks. He called on one of his best friends to accompany him. They drove on for a few miles to reach the party zone. Right now, the party is a blur to his memory, however, on the way back, he recalls having been assigned to drive some girls they met, along with his friend. My dad was fifteen years old when he first got drunk. Between the endless shots and mixed drinks that were offered, he was woozy, but, the girls were waiting! He remembers Journey playing on the radio, the guitar riffs and kick-ass lyrics in the atmosphere. His vision, already clouded by alcohol, couldn't distinguish his friend's pleads for him to quit driving, nor the pole on the edge of the street.
    By the end of the night it resulted in: smashed windows, a terrible hangover, and a bone protruding on my father's arm.
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