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As a kid, my dad and I never hit it off. We would go out, try to have fun, but he would get far too pissed off for me or something and I would go back to my mom's house (they were divorced). On the other hand, my sister despised my mom and always enjoyed time with our dad.
It eventually got to a point where I would stop seeing him for weeks or months on end, refusing to even talk to him on the phone. I just didn't care about him. While my sister would go out with my dad, learning how to drive, ect, I would stay at home either doing homework or doing jack shit on the computer.
Then, sometime around 7th grade, my mother had a long talk with him about how I was starting to lose all interest in him. I don't know how it happened, but from that point on we started spending much more time together. Sometimes he would just pick me up in his car, and we would drive around for an hour or two just talking, eventually parking infront of the lake and eating cheap junk food. At one point I became very dehydrated for whatever reason, and had to stay home the entire weekend in bed while my mom, stepdad, and sister had to go to ski lessons. That whole weekend my dad stayed with me, taking care of me. We even read some passages of the Zombie Survival Guide together.
About 2-3 weeks later, my mom walked in and told me my dad died. He has suffered a terrible back injury as a policemen, and had numerous surgeries to try and fix it. His last one required strong medication, and he drank some wine with it, which ended up killing him. Apparently, he died falling head-first into the toilet.
Life is a bitch.