At fifteen years of age I was transported one thousand miles out west to live with my dad in Arizona. My mother, who had divorced my dad ten years earlier, had just remarried, and my new step-dad didn’t want to deal with having some cocky, smart-ass teenager around. I'd seriously wanted to live with my dad since I was five years old, when they divorced. So I thought the new change was going to be great. Well, I guess everybody can fill in their own scenarios about the “high expectations
” of adolescence, but here’s my one-day-in-the-life of a teenager when I was eighteen years old.
“Come on, Aaron, let’s go! Let’s go! I’m outta here in thirty minutes!” bellowed the words of my dad’s deep masculine voice through my bedroom door one morning in May. My dad was 40 years old at the time, and owner of the MavenBridge Construction Company. He was a stern, unemotional man who had little, if any, tolerance for the weakness of others.
I gave a start when his commanding voice pierced my door and penetrated my warm and cozy unconsciousness. I groaned and tightly clutched my pillow. Squinting at the clock on my nightstand, the time read 7:05am.
“Yeah! Yeah, Dad! I’m up!!” I growled.
Arching my back, I stretched my body high on the bed
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