Love for a well acquainted stranger

Here I ago again, with the same haunting memory... As a child my weekends were never truly mine. Court-order rudely demanded me to visit my dad every single weekend. I suppose this doesn’t seem so terrible, if it weren’t for the fact that I didn’t really know my dad, if it weren’t for him and my brother having the same name, I probably wouldn’t know that. My only memory of my dad was the abusive relationship he was in with my mother.

My dad can be put into three categories, sexist, belligerent, and a lair.  My dad wasn’t an evil person but I surly hated him. There are many memories I have of my dad that make me cringe, and hate him all over again. As a child I grew up with my dad having hate for me. Both my parents are black as hell and here I am a lighter complexion then them. This had a negative effect on my dad. He just knew with all his heart I wasn’t his child. When my dad swabbed me to confirm his accusations, he got the news that seemed to only anger him further.

100% his child, not 99.9%, but 100% the DNA results read. I thought things would get better but they didn’t, he only isolated me more. Every weekend my older brother and I would visit, because what other choice did I have. One weekend my dad made me clean the house and cook for him and my brother. My dad manipulated me into thinking I was being a huge help, his “big girl”. Until, I over herd him explaining to my brother cooking and cleaning was a women’s place. I wouldn’t have been offended, if it hadn’t been so many women in my life teaching me the complete opposite. So there I sat, crying because that wasn’t the first time I’d heard him say something hurtful. The first time he said he loved my brother more. Being with my dad sucked, I wasn’t having fun anymore, and I was ultimately alone.

If I were to upset my dad in any way he would damn near threaten my life. I was scared of the things he said, and too afraid to say anything to anyone else. One day my dad told me if I didn’t fall asleep he would slap the shit out of me. I was terrified. I went to the bathroom and called my grandmother. I knew if I needed anything she would come to the rescue. When I heard a knock at the door I started to tremble. My dad answered the door and was pissed. I already secretly packed my things and ran to my grandma. She grabbed my bag and my hand walked me to her car. My dad called me names I wish I didn’t remember. I grandma turned to my dad pointed her gun at him and said, “If you ever disrespect my granddaughter again, I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

There are many memories I wish I didn’t remember, simply because they turned me into this hateful depressed person for a long time. I believe that no matter what your dad put you through you should love him. I believe this because there are things that shape a person to act the way they do. I’m not sure what shaped my dad into the person he is, but I let myself give him the benefit of the doubt. At the end of the day, without him I wouldn’t be here today.