It's 4 p.m. The sound ofthe slamming door indicates my father's home from work. Within 30minutes the remaining four members of my family come home and the soundof the door becomes a wailing siren warning me of their imminentapproach. What conflicts will erupt this afternoon? What can my parentsand I possibly find to fight about tonight? I walk into my room and shutthe door, hoping to find serenity there.
Silence is replaced bythe sounds of blaring televisions, a radio in my sister's room next doorand the yells of my youngest sister. Is it too much to ask for an ounceof peace? Would it be entirely too difficult for everyone to calm downonce in a while? Apparently.
Within a few minutes, I hear thefirst knock on my door. Actually, knock is not the correct word. Thebangs on my door are mini-explosions that make the window rattle and myshelves tremble. The torture begins; from this point on, I am met withcomments about my cluttered room, requests for attention from my sistersand demands to run errands. Just leave me alone!
Each plea andrequest increases the tension that has, in recent years, become apermanent part of my relationship with my parents. Calm down. Try torelax. Just ignore the irritation. I try, but fail miserably. We bickerand quarrel until dinner, and then we attempt to share a peaceful momentaround the table.
We eat and try to strike up a conversation. Myparents ask about my day at school, and for a few moments we actuallyenjoy listening to each other. At this time, I realize that no matterhow much we fight, my family cares about me. I am looking forward tocollege. Maybe my family and I will get along better when we don't haveto be together every day. I do, however, know I'll always come home. Nomatter what happens or how much we argue, I know there are at least fourpeople I can always count on.
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