The sound of crushing beer cans hinted at the mood of my…. my house. I wanted to call it my home. But it wasn’t that. My dad’s house wasn’t a home at all. Just four walls with windows. Moss trailed the old rickety planks on the outside. Inside held old, hand me down furniture. It was a three-bedroom house on the outskirts of Riverwood, PA. Nestled on the far corner of our two-acre property.The property where my father’s house sat once belonged to my grandfather. The house too. And when he passed away, he left it to me. But that didn’t sit well with my father.He couldn’t understand why he’d been passed over. He thought that he should be the one to get the land and the house. But my grandfather had other plans.After he realized he’d been left nothing, it didn’t take long for my father to jump into a downward spiral, dragging me for the ride. In spite of my grandfather’s wishes, Rick, my father, stopped upkeeping the house and the land. He no longer mowed the once beautiful lawn or tr
Last Updated : 2022-07-13 Read more