My mother said, "You deal with your father the best".
I am not sure how true that sentence is. Technically, I never "deal" with my father. I avoid him. I hear him slam the car door. I frantically run to my room, merely to avoid the awkward and quite uncomfortable 3 minutes when we exchange our days to each other.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"How was your day?"
"Fine"
"How was school?"
"Fine"
"What did you do today?"
"Nothing."
"Okay."
If we even get this far into the conversation, I immediately begin to tense up. There is something about my father that irks me. So as opposed to allowing this feeling to linger I get up.
"Where are you going?"
"To my room."
"No, stay."
"I have homework to do."
"Okay."
Then I depart up the stairs knowing that I will spend all the time in my room just watching the television on the internet. I know; I sound like an awful daughter. I don't love my father. I should be more compassionate. Well, let us step into the time machine and venture back into the past.
My family has had it hard in life. My parents came from Kenya in 1987. Both of them had degrees from Kenya, sadly their first jobs in the land of opportunity were Chick'fil'A employee and taxi cab driver. At this time, I was not even born. Eventually, when I was born, my mom worked as a banker and my dad was a taxi cab driver who also sold cars. I never thought my family went without possessions. I knew nothing.
I look back at all the important moments in my life and sadly, I can't remember my father being at any of them. Yes, he is a busy man. You can stand up for him if you want, but it is more than that. He disregarded these events as important. The minute occasions I had as a child never even translated to him as a huge moment in his daughter’s life. Christmas plays, dance performances, and school productions all went unnoticed. This was my childhood. One without a father.
As I swiftly departed from childhood to teen years the distance between us continued to grow. Until, our lives rarely intertwined. I went my way and he his. Sadly, the way I went took me to a place that I never needed to be...but that too is another sad story. I strayed. I lived in a house full of perceived enemies, my family. I would attack them before I let them attack me. He was never there for that. Unless, I got out of control. Then my mother would call him in as reinforcement. He would yell at me.
"Fool! What are you? Stupid!"
He would attack my soul, my heart, my self-worth. Here was this person who should love you unconditionally calling you by these detestable names. What am I to do? Internally, there is a war waging that I am losing. Externally, I am fighting words being thrown at me by now my true enemy, my father. I shield myself. I cut off everything and everyone. I begin to put on my iron armor. First, I cover my heart. I know it is weak and it cannot break. For the destruction of my heart is the destruction of my person. Then my emotions. He knows too well how to hurt me. I can't allow him--or anyone-- the opportunity to hurt me. I know if my internal is covered my external needs no protection. I am safe behind my iron armor.
I kept my armor on for a long time. It soon became my flesh. Nothing--unless I allowed it to--could penetrate its thick walls. I became hardened. I didn't care. I believe it is far better to be safe, than to go through any of the emotions my father had put me through. Sadly, eventually no one would come near me. I was so scared to be hurt and so secure in my seclusion that I was a monster. I didn't care about anything. I soon became reckless.
I knew I had to create a balance. I needed people around me, but not relationships. I gained acquaintanceships. In high school, I gained so many that I was on Homecoming Court. One of my most glorious memories stained, by my father.
Stupidly, I began to take off my armor. I had hoped to rekindle some relationship with my father. I asked him if he wanted to walk me onto the field @ the Homecoming Game. He said,
"Why would I want to do that? Besides I want to go to Nigeria during that time."
Look there is my jaw on the floor, and my heart in the dirt.
I knew at that moment, my father would never love me the way I needed to be loved. He stole this luscious moment from me and stripped it of all its beauty and glory. Now, due to my mother's coaxing my father escorted me down the field. But no girl wants to be in the arms of a man who cares for something else--especially when that man is your father.
I put my armor on again and continued on in my defiance. One evening I had snuck into the house via the basement and had fallen asleep down there. When I woke up it was 1AM. My parents called me phone and screamed asking where I was. I told them at home. When my parents arrived my mother had given up and just went upstairs. My father told me to show him where I was. So, I took him down to the basement. He then said to me with a fiendish smile.
"If you ever do something this stupid again, I am going to beat you so hard that you are going to have to call the police."
I knew what I had done was wrong, but for the first moment of my life. I was scared for my life. He had just threatened me. He told me he would put my life in danger. He is my father.
Not anymore. He is not my father and he is not my family. He is merely a bread winner. He supplies goods for the troops.
I don't deal with my father. I avoid him. I flee from a monster that has birthed a monster in me. I am on my way to becoming a man, but like any transformation it takes time. Tons and tons of time.
