I’ve been turned over at a local English Orphanage at age eight. Together with other kids with no more parents to give us care and love, we voluntarily accept the guidance in the orphanage. They taught us how to read and write. At our spare time, we are allowed to play soccer at the orphanage grounds. I also pick fights with the other kids. I can say that this institution still let us be kids though surrounded with strict people. We also taught about the bible.

Every week, the orphanage receives visitors; most of the time is couples who plan to adopt one of us. I’ve seen most of my friends being adopted. Some of them have remarkable smiles in their faces. I envied them a lot. But there is a strong feeling inside me that I don’t want to be adopted. As the four corners of this orphanage seems to be a lot smaller than it used to be. Those couples are unlucky to conceive a child. As time passes by, I’m never been successful to undergo that process. Whenever these people come across my documents, hesitation embarks their faces.

I still have a father.

My father resides in a local jail miles away from London. He was been accused as a murderer. He murdered my mother on Christmas Day out of deep rage and the fact that he was cheated. My mother was being unfaithful, seeing different men and being promiscuous despite the fact that my father has been working for us, twenty-four/seven. Though it’s Christmas day, my father was forced to work. I still remember his sad face that moment when he left for work. I always knew my mom’s doing but I chose to keep it a secret. I don’t want my father to be disappointed. At least we still share a good dinner.

But my dad got home early. I was playing soccer beside our house when I hear that my dad’s car. I quickly jump out of my feet and run inside our house, leaving my old soccer ball.

“Dad! Welcome ho-“

Two gun shots echoed across the whole house.

Then I saw my dad stabbing my mother, half-naked. Beside him was a man I didn’t recognized? For an instant, I saw mom’s lifeless body, her eyes seems to be shouting with triumph. I never imagined that my mom would actually hate my father.

On the time that my father was sent in jail, I was been turned over by the orphanage. Then I received a letter that my father was found guilty for murder, and will be in jail for his whole lifetime. Since we are practically immigrants (both my mother and father are Norwegian), we don’t have relatives so I was forced to be sent in orphanage.

At age fifteen, I opted to leave the orphanage. Since I am capable of working on my own, I choose to leave them. For seven years inside the orphanage, I know I am forever in debt for what they have done for me. I returned on our deserted house. But this house is no longer a home for me. It only brings back sorrowful memories to me.

My dad loves to cook dinner for me. He likes playing soccer with me, though he keeps on blaming himself as a bad goalkeeper. We like drive-thru cheap fast food chains. I remember when dad taught me how to swim but he ended up drowning. In my fright I actually jump into the water and rescued him. He was actually kidding me. In my disgust I keep on crying for one hour. One time when I was sick and can’t go to the summer camp with my friends, my dad pitched a tent at our backyard. He said that he was actually glad that I didn’t go to the summer camp. He also said that for him, this is the best summer he ever had. He taught me how to play a guitar that night. We also had bonfire, and our neighbours are actually commented that it was nice.

I left the next day and seek for a job. God was with me and luckily I got a job in the local supermarket. On my first salary, I rented a room at the apartelle near the supermarket. I decided to leave our house because it was really hard for me breathe. Together with the good memories it has lies the darkest sorrows that I really don’t like to remember.

My dad and mom keep on arguing over small things. My mother, being jobless keeps on blowing our expenses. That’s the very reason why my dad keeps on working very hard for us. Most expenses are actually can’t be explained by my mom. My mom loves me for sure. But she no longer loves my dad.

After a year, I decided to visit my dad. That was Christmas Day. Since I don’t have a car, I travelled for almost two hours. I brought some foods and also some gifts.

Across the visitation room, there are lots of Christmas decorations and even a Christmas tree. Eventhough there was a huge chimney; it was really cold in that room.

For eight years my dad’s appearance really changes. He was now well-built due to the labour works in the jail. He also had mustache and even has scrubby black beard.

For minutes there was a silence. I can’t look on his eyes. But then I heard he sniffs.

I saw my dad crying. In my disbelief he stood up and hugged me. All he can say was how he was sorry for what happen to me.

I can’t blame my dad for what he did eventhough he killed mom.

“Dad, Merry Christmas.”

As I hear the Let It Snow song, we shared a feisty Christmas dinner and my dad was wearing the scarf I gave him as a Christmas gift for him.