“You didn’t come with a manual, LeKechia.”
My dad, in an almost apologetic manner, reminded me
that being my father was as difficult as being his daughter. Our
relationship was tumultuous, and we were both charting unfamiliar territory. Whenever he said it, I would, for a fleeting moment, feel as sorry for him as I did for
myself. That compassion quickly dissipated as I resigned to the fact that he was too proud to be apologetic.
I am certain that there is something innate within my father that won't allow room for regrets. I am also certain that that something comes from the same brand of pigheadedness I, unfortunately, find myself unable to contain. In any case, I could not trust my intuition because my perception of him tended to be overly harsh. So the part of me that loved and yearned for a healthy father-daughter relationship would not allow any concrete resolve about his character.
While he has never verbalized it, I am certain that on some level he resents me as much I resent him. He felt and expressed that he did his best as a father. I did not agree. I saw conceit where he found satisfaction. He had disdain where I placed value. We, on so many issues, on the issues of most importance, were polar opposites.
On many occasions, he would remind me that I was not an
“accident;” that he and my mom planned to have me. As he proudly recalled the events surrounding my conception, I quietly reeled from an overwhelming combination of relief and offense. A sixteen year old and a nineteen year old decided to
bring life in this world without the preparation, maturity, and
resources required for the undertaking. They actually thought it was a good idea!
I still have not decided if I prefer my existence being the
result of foolish mistake or a foolish decision. And, I cannot help but think
that the latter is worse. Most insulting to me is the reality that shortly
after my conception my dad would engage in an affair with Texas Department of
Criminal Justice. He was not present for my birth. He did not sign my birth
certificate. He was incarcerated for the first nine years of my life. Despite all of the effort we both feel we gave over the years, we have yet to reach a place of mutual understanding.
My parents made one of hell of a decision that affected all
of our lives and the essence of who I am. I do not think I fully
forgave them for being ignorant and young until life taught me that I am not above youth and
ignorance. Maybe my father did try his best.
"Keep on living, Baby."
Another one of his mantras accosting me...
Damn.
"Keep on living, Baby."
Another one of his mantras accosting me...
Damn.
