To say that I have a very complicated relationship with my father would be an understatement and at the same time false. The bottom line is, I had NO relationship with my father. I met him once, talked to him less then a handful of times with each time being more hostile and colder then the last and he did a very good job of keeping my existence a secret from the people in his family, a fact that I only learn in my early to mid-twenties. Now as I get closer to 30, I can admit to the fact that he abandoned me, but as a kid and teen, I felt ashamed by it. It was as if he somehow knew from the start that I was extremely flawed in some kind of way and wanted no part of me because of it. Yup, I am a statistic. I am one of millions of men that did not grow up with a father figure their life. The things I know about him now has come from external forces. The memories of my mother, my brothers, some of his family… and honestly it is nothing good. Without getting so personal to reveal what type of man he is, let’s just say that I am not proud of the things he is reportedly has done. The only reason why I put some much stock in believing that the things told to me is true, is because of the limited interactions that we have had.
In the one and only time meeting him, I expressed that I was too old for him to be some sort of father figure to me, but I want him to be my friend since I was going through that odd time in every man’s life where I was at the crossroads. I needed that guidance from the older generation on things I should and should not do. I don’t know if I was just too naive, delusional or maybe a little bit of both to expect something different would result from this. He told me in no uncertain terms that he never wanted to be in my life from the start. A part of me died when he told me that. What I couldn’t understand was why? What would be the point of creating a life if you want nothing to do with it in the end? Were condoms not invented back in 1980 and the only option was the pull out method that men THINK they know how to do oh so well? But I digress… Sometimes my thoughts drift onto my father from time to time. I don’t know why really. He abandoned me before I even took a breath in the world and I had no choice in the matter. Funny, there was a point in my life where I would’ve forgiven him if he only said he was sorry. Yeah, funny… I hate him; there is no doubt about it. He is the only person in my life that I could honestly say that about and no matter how much therapy I go through I can not seem to let that hate go. He left my brothers, he left me and raised his lighter skinned children. Another funny joke to be made right there isn’t it…
When I was a kid, I always felt like a black sheep. Even through I had a loving mother and grandmother around me, I felt embarrassed as I watched all the other kids who had there father’s with them. I didn’t understand why that couldn’t be me. It lead to me isolating myself, withdrawing from the world around me because I didn’t want to get hurt by anyone. When I started to get to know my father’s side of my family, I felt myself drawing back and retreating, thinking that they were going to be just like him. Cruel, manipulative, deceptive… and I as normally do, disappeared before they could hurt me. I had no proof. I did not have any “Miss Cleo” powers telling me that they would. In fact, they loath him more then me, but I just followed my impulse and ran.
The more I learned about him, the less I wanted to know. I found myself engulfed in the knowledge anyway and it weighed heavily on my mind for sometime. I always wonder what made him the way he was? Was it the Jamaican air? Was it something my grandparents did to him when he was growing up? Or Was he born that way? Nevertheless, the ultimate question that clouds my mind is whether that same frustration, rage and cruelty is a part of me somehow waiting for a catalyst to provoke it. Every time I look in the mirror, I see his face staring back at me, so is it SOOO far fetch to believe that I might have more of his traits that are unseen. Will I do the things that he did and hurt so many people? Am I a carrier of his sins?
Every time I look in the mirror and see the face staring back at me… I just don’t know…
Kenny.
In the one and only time meeting him, I expressed that I was too old for him to be some sort of father figure to me, but I want him to be my friend since I was going through that odd time in every man’s life where I was at the crossroads. I needed that guidance from the older generation on things I should and should not do. I don’t know if I was just too naive, delusional or maybe a little bit of both to expect something different would result from this. He told me in no uncertain terms that he never wanted to be in my life from the start. A part of me died when he told me that. What I couldn’t understand was why? What would be the point of creating a life if you want nothing to do with it in the end? Were condoms not invented back in 1980 and the only option was the pull out method that men THINK they know how to do oh so well? But I digress… Sometimes my thoughts drift onto my father from time to time. I don’t know why really. He abandoned me before I even took a breath in the world and I had no choice in the matter. Funny, there was a point in my life where I would’ve forgiven him if he only said he was sorry. Yeah, funny… I hate him; there is no doubt about it. He is the only person in my life that I could honestly say that about and no matter how much therapy I go through I can not seem to let that hate go. He left my brothers, he left me and raised his lighter skinned children. Another funny joke to be made right there isn’t it…
When I was a kid, I always felt like a black sheep. Even through I had a loving mother and grandmother around me, I felt embarrassed as I watched all the other kids who had there father’s with them. I didn’t understand why that couldn’t be me. It lead to me isolating myself, withdrawing from the world around me because I didn’t want to get hurt by anyone. When I started to get to know my father’s side of my family, I felt myself drawing back and retreating, thinking that they were going to be just like him. Cruel, manipulative, deceptive… and I as normally do, disappeared before they could hurt me. I had no proof. I did not have any “Miss Cleo” powers telling me that they would. In fact, they loath him more then me, but I just followed my impulse and ran.
The more I learned about him, the less I wanted to know. I found myself engulfed in the knowledge anyway and it weighed heavily on my mind for sometime. I always wonder what made him the way he was? Was it the Jamaican air? Was it something my grandparents did to him when he was growing up? Or Was he born that way? Nevertheless, the ultimate question that clouds my mind is whether that same frustration, rage and cruelty is a part of me somehow waiting for a catalyst to provoke it. Every time I look in the mirror, I see his face staring back at me, so is it SOOO far fetch to believe that I might have more of his traits that are unseen. Will I do the things that he did and hurt so many people? Am I a carrier of his sins?
Every time I look in the mirror and see the face staring back at me… I just don’t know…
Kenny.
