244.

When I think about my dad and the time we spent together, I remember all the stories he would tell me about his childhood and then my mom telling me they weren't true. He'd say his parents would move all the time without telling him and he'd come home to an empty house. Really he was just saying that his family moved around Cincinnati a lot. He would also say how his family was so poor that they worked for the black people. Really he was just saying that is family was no where close to wealthy. I remember believing every word he said because he was my dad. When I think about it all now, I really don't know much about him. He was born in 1934 and died in 2001. There are so many true stories of those years that I would love to know but I know I won't have the chance to know. My mom doesn't really talk about him anymore, probably because she doesn't want to upset her boyfriend or make him feel any less important. I wish someone would tell my about his life, but everyone on my dad's side of the family is deceased. It's strange how you can love someone so much and know so little about them. I feel like this happens more times than not with me. I love so many people that I really don't know that well, but the people who open up to me, I love even more.