Father – the enemy
I sensed that my father had political enemies. He had a clique of friends, and there was the other clique that didn’t see eye to eye with his. The leader of the opposing sect was Mr. Y, and he was the mayor of my hometown for several years when I was a child. My father scorned him and his supporters and believed they were up to no good.
I was about nine years old when there was the election for the town councilors. My father was campaigning for his peers to win the majority of seats over candidates from Mr. Y’s sect. My father’s friends gathered in the guest lounge of my house in the evening of the voting day to keep track of the ballot count. Phones kept ringing, and the room was foggy with the cigarette smoke. People spoke loudly, and the energy was tense but vibrant. Even my mother had joined the debate. I could tell the election was an extremely important one, and their candidates had to win. The atmosphere got my adrenaline going, and I helped them by answering the phone, writing down the numbers, and delivering messages with the same vigor. By 10 pm, my mother sent me to bed, but I couldn’t calm my nerve for a while. The next morning, I found out my father’s people won the majority of the seats. He wasn’t overjoyed, however, because my father’s real enemy was Mr. Y.
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