Time To Leave Home

We were walking down the street on Fort Bragg, North Carolina.  I was with my father, Wilbert Spain.  To this day I cannot remember where we were headed.  Now that I think about it, it was even more of a mystery as to why I was with my father.  Wilbert Spain was a career soldier.  He had served most of his years as a member of the 82nd Airborne Division located out of Fort Bragg.  My father was never a talkative individual, especially when he was sober.  But here I was walking along the side of the road with him.  "You know it's about time for you to leave here" he said.  His question came out of no where and I was caught off guard.  "Boy, you'll be 18 soon and it's time that you made a life for your own".  I still did not answer because my father had never been one to ease into a conversation; never the type to prepare you for your next move.  "I don't care where you go", he continued, "but I want you to leave North Carolina".  We continued to walk together and I remained silent.  I had always been characterized by my teachers in school as a very sensitive child.  I lost my mother to kidney disease when I was nine, there were six siblings at home with me who were all surviving by the grace of God.  My father had a penchant for disappearing for several days on payday; leaving us alone to fend for ourselves until he returned days later drunk and ready for nothing but sleep.  We went through his pockets and confiscated any loose change we could, hoping there was enough to buy food for the house.  My father's devastating condition left us without Christmas holidays, birthday celebrations, proms, school dances or field trips.  Yes, I suppose as a child I was a little sensitive, but it wasn't by choice.  As we walked, my father and I, all I could do was hold back the tears as I wondered to myself "Why does he hate me so much?".
Recently  one of my siblings spoke of returning home to live. "Why" I wondered.  When I think of home (N.C.) I think of my walk with my father, I think of the many hardships I and my brothers and sisters endured under him, I think of the many things we went without and I say how I never want to return to that again.  And then, as if for the first time, I realized that my father did indeed love me.  He urged me to get away from home and by doing so I learned Independence.  I learned to be responsible for my own decisions; whether good or bad.  I learned that when my funds ran low that there was no parent or brother or sister in my immediate area who could bail me out.  And most of all, I learned to do the opposite to what my father did for my family.   When he died of cancer in 1995 I was able to tell him what a good father he was and that I loved him very much. My father wasn't the best father, but he certainly was not the worst. 
If we look closely there are obvious lessons to be learned while we are in our trials.
Have a great day.
Dennis