In the most recent years, maybe 5-7, Iâve been working on becoming cordial to the man who helped bring me to life. My father is a very unique individual who canât be described by too many words (not nice ones anyway). From the beginning until now itâs been a journey to get to where we are.
Picture it, November 2, 1988. (Fun fact, for my late October early November babies, you were conceived on Valentineâs Day đ).
A star was born to two immature, inexperienced and unprepared 20-something year old people. As the legend states, my father wasnât exactly shopping for baby furniture when my mom broke the news. In fact, he had the most common response amongst the African American male culture and questioned paternity results (go figure đ) and of course his mother (my paternal grandmother) agreed and egged it on. Now you can't stop her from calling me "just to chat" or sending my baby stuff. Funny how life works.
Anyway, the first 10 years of my life, I was progressively blindsided by the actions taken by my father as I helped my mom pick up the pieces each time. From years 1-6, things were as normal as any of my other friends. Year 6-10 was more than I should have had to deal with. It was a whirlwind of infidelity, miscarriages, public fights, bleaching & cutting up clothes (which I got to help with) until the grand finale, a baby was produced. At this point, my mother was tired of the humiliation and embarrassment and decided to leave. By year 11, my sister was born and my weekends were officially designated to being picked up and dropped off by my father in a worse emotional state than I left. As the oldest, I was caught dead center of my parents divorce; especially when mama began dating who is now my stepdad. OMG đđđ...THE FUCKING WORSE!!! My sister was 1 maybe 2 at the time and she would mistakenly call my father the nickname she had for my stepdad and all hell broke loose. The mood instantly shifted, and a dark rain cloud followed us until we got dropped back off. My father began to cuss at me and treat me as though I was the reason for the divorce. He was very mean and cold with his words. Often making me feel less than that of my little sister. This began the divide that would destroy our relationship and would literally take years of prayer and forgiveness to repair. He would, from that point on, speak to me in short, rude tones if at all and divert his attention to my sister (who by the way is the one who innocently called him another man's name, yet it was my fault). When we would conclude the oh so predictable mall visit to the same stores, we would get dropped off at my grandmother's (where he lived) and he would leave us there until he returned hours later. This was my relationship with my father for about 6-8 months. He'd hurt my feelings time and time again and I would often cry when he was around. One weekend, I woke up and I refused to go with him. Mama knew I would be sad when we'd come back but I reckon she would chalk it up to it being a pre-teen thing. When she would ask, I'd say it was fine and go to my room. When I finally told mama what took place every weekend, the mean and hurtful comments, the attitude I got and how we spend more time at our grandmother's house than with him, we (I) no longer had to be subjected to the emotional abuse. Mama told me I didn't have to go anymore. Since I wasn't going, neither was my little sister. đ¤ˇđ˝ââď¸Welp...This kicks off the phase of my life called "Mad AF"!!! They say sadness turns to anger. Well, let's just say I was alway angry. Oh and now my mama says she's getting married and we are moving??
This my face the entire time we packed and drove to Conyers. Needless to say, after I was no longer made to go on those weekend visits, he used that as an excuse to stop doing anything for us at all. He stopped calling, coming to school functions (awards day, field day, school dances, etc) all because I didn't want to continue to be his emotional punching bag.
âFast forwarding to my new life with a blended family. Uh, yeah...refer back to ⏠ď¸the pug!!!! đI dont know what dream I was sold but that's not what was in the box when I opened it. Now I not only have the trama from my biological father, now I have my mother's new husband trying to find his place (and in a not so subtle way might I add). When we would get into our spats (which were often at the time, I'd have to hear nasty remarks about my "sorry ass daddy." If it weren't true I would have had more of a leg to stand on but I didn't. I didn't talk to my father until 5/6 years after moving and I had to be the one to find his information and reach out. My doing this caused issues in my current home life because nobody was a fan of his. But despite his bullshit, I wanted him at my high school graduation. Something in me needed him to see I was successful without him and needed him to acknowledge me for once not being the reason for their break up. That happy time was short lived as I move onto the next phase of my life..."Broke and broken!"
Here I am, back in Augusta, for college this time. I was optimistic that my father and his side of the family and I could become closer and find some common ground. Instead, I was met at the gates of Paine College with insults, negativity and discouragement. "Why would you choose this raggedy ass school?" "Don't come crying to me when the shit hits the fan because this is a waste of time anyway." "While you are here, don't become the campus ho." These were the nuggets of wisdom my father left me to start off the most terrifying time of my life. Although I was from there, I had never been alone and on my own without the support of my mother. It's a bad feeling to have family close and feel like a stranger in their presence. Begrudgingly, my maternal grandmother, stepped in to help me out as I had nobody else. I am thankful for the speck of warmth in her heart that had my name on it, but best believe, it came at a price. Every time we'd meet up for whatever (doctors appointments, grocery store runs, etc) I had to hear how she felt about everyone she didn't care for. This was another version of emotional trama because if you know her, you know she's not shy and can be quite insensitive. I struggled with her telling the story repeatedly about how she put my mother out of the house because of my "sorry ass daddy" (told you it's hard to find nice words to describe him) and in the same breath tells me she loves me. Did she forget I was also put out with my mama? Like who tf brags on that? But again, she was my ONLY help outside of my financial aid and part-time jobs I had so what choice did I have?
On the very few times my father came by the campus he passed daily to see me he came with his typical emotional abuse. Almost picking up where he left off. Most parents are more than willing to sacrifice whatever necessary to help their children excel. Not my father. It was a competition and remember school was a "waste of time" as he said in the beginning so he wasn't about to be supportive now. From name calling, to the body shaming when I gained the freshman 15, to flat out refusing to provide assistance with giving me a ride in the pouring rain as I waited at the bus stop, as ONE of may examples (he asked me where was the nigga I was laying up with every night; đ I can't make this up), I was, again, his emotional punching bag. The ONE time he did come to visit, I was in a low
state of emotion since my
boyfriend at the time and I were
on a âbreakâ (another post for another time on that dumb shit), he tried to be a Dad and
be there. He took me to Baldinoâs (my fav sub place to this day). I could tell he had no
clue what to say to me but it didnât matter because he was trying. That was the only time where I can remember my father actually showing compassion towards me.
He never did attend my basketball games where I cheered, or did he come to the fashion shows I was apart of. He came to my coronation ball only and I mean ONLY to aggravate and attempt to harass my mother, who of course came with my stepdad (neither of them attend many of my collegiate functions eitherđ). This was the cycle until I graduated. This flow of the events is the kick start the next phase of my life called "Kiss my ass".
Stay tuned for part 2.
Until next week, âđ˝
