Can we just say that when Nick starts thinking, it’s not always a good thing. Sometimes, I come up with great ideas for posts, other times I give myself anxiety attacks by thinking about the future. I’ve had way too much time to think lately.
I think part of this growing up and getting older business is the quest to be better. At least it is for me. I always want to feel like I’m moving forward. Trying to be better than I was yesterday and other revelations that get tweeted into my timeline while people are watching Oprah’s Lifeclass.
I was woken up one morning by my phone ringing. The number was “unavailable” but I answered it anyway.
I sat up groggily and rubbed my eyes, “Uncle George?”
“No, it’s your father.”
I didn’t know what to say or how to act. He knows nothing about who I am now. Or how him leaving (and mollywhopping my mother) have affected me. How I remember his last words being “if you become a hooker I will kill you.” He issued the same promise to my brother if he became gay. I became the typical girl in high school, seeking acceptance to make up for the fact that my father was gone. I heard through the grapevine that he’d moved back to Jamaica some years ago, living on his father’s farm. I also knew that because he’d gotten in trouble while in the states, he wouldn’t be able to come back. So scratch him coming to my wedding (whenever that happens) off the list. Also, because of my situation, I can’t get to Jamaica to see him. He snuck himself out of the country like he was ashamed. Whether he was ashamed of what he became or ashamed of what he was leaving behind, I don’t know.
He can’t be mad at me because I didn’t recognize his voice. Although I’m sure that no man, no matter the relationship wants to be called another man’s name., it’s not something I did spitefully. I hadn’t heard from him in years, he was lucky I even answered the phone.
For the first 8 years of my life, I’d like to think I was a daddy’s girl. Although all I really remember is him taking me to the race track. It wasn’t so much for the bonding experience as I was the tool he would use to lure in women. I was the cute daughter with the afro puffs that made him more appealing. I hate this memory. I’m disgusted by it.
Early last year, I realized I wanted to forgive him. I realize that I might be the only example of Jesus that my father will experience. I want to absolve him of all the crap before anything happens to him. I don’t want to add this situation to my list of lifelong regrets. I know I’ll never be able to forgive myself if I don’t take care of it while I can.
The day I left for DC, I remember speaking to my aunt while waiting for my connection at the bus terminal. She said that my father wasn’t raised with love. She wasn’t excusing his behavior, but when you don’t know love as a child, how can you expect to give it as an adult? She told me his mother doesn’t claim him and that his father (my grandfather) treats him like a worker and not like a son. He calls my aunt asking if she can send him money. Mind you, I think my father in in his 60’s. I sat in the bus terminal and cried for him.
I’m sad. I’m mad at the years I can’t get back. I’m pissed at him running back to Jamaica instead of staying and trying to teach my brother some things. I’m mad that, at 10 years old, I had to pick up where he left off and become “the man of the house.” Working when I should’ve been able to be a child and irresponsibly carefree. I want to forgive him, but everything in me cries out for justice. I’m not the type to literally try to hurt him the way he hurt me, but I don’t think about him in an effort to not think about rectifying the situation. Meanwhile, everything else in me wants to cry for him. I want to send him $20 and a card to let him know that this grown ass woman still cries thinking about the father that left. The man that I should be able to count on never looked back as he packed his bags. How the feeling of “not good enough” is so prevalent I spend time trying to not let it plague me.
I’m angry. I’m pissed and I’m hurt. And I’d like to think that I’m better than these negative feelings, but right now I’m not. Sometimes I think the feelings run too deep to start unearthing now. All I can do is sit back and hope and pray that my children don’t know this feeling. I don’t want this to be the family curse I have to live with. Why do I have to be the adult while all these grown ass people act like children? I’m tired of being responsible and trying to mend broken relationships with people that didn’t think twice before the connection was severed. I shouldn’t have to come out the woodwork to have my father want to talk to me. How can you be a man, know you have children out there in the world and not care? That’s bull.
And I’m annoyed with myself for wanting to make it right.
It would be easier to be a bitch and chuck the deuces…
I hate everything about this situation…
That’s all… Nick
been too much talk about daddies this week, I’m done for now…