My Life As “Fireball”

“Alisha, if all you do is look at the ground, you’re going to miss the shooting stars in the sky”.
I can still hear my mother’s voice ringing in my ear all these years later. A silent reminder to never look down, or give up. I don’t know how she meant it back then. Twenty-eight years old and I still wonder what her life was like at my age. We didn’t have the best relationship, if you would even call it that, but I have a few memories of her that resonate more often than anything else. But this story isn’t all about those. This story is a look into my life after her, my life as “Fireball”.
It’s 2008 when I meet my “father” for the first time. I had been living with my foster parents for what seemed like a lifetime, and I was finding myself as a young girl at fifteen, and I was happy with my new family. They showed me love and compassion and taught me the importance of patience and understanding. Walking into the CPS office, I had no idea what was happening that day. All I knew is that I was thrilled to walk in and see my grandpa sitting in the waiting room for me. I hadn’t seen him much since I was put in foster care, so to feel his arms around my shoulders and to smell the faint scent of cement glue and saw dust on him made me feel at home again. He loved building model airplanes and teaching me how to fly them. I never did manage to not crash one.
I sat with him in the little waiting room while my foster parents spoke to my caseworker. People were always coming in and out, so I didn’t pay much attention to the man that walked in and sat directly across from us until I felt like he was staring at us. My grandpa rested his hand on my arm and said in a low voice,
“You wanted to know who your dad was, well there he is”. His voice echoed over and over again in my brain as I tried to fully comprehend what he had just said to me. The man sitting across from me, who hadn’t said a word to me or even acknowledged me, was my dad?

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