Читать книгу Nasty people - Shelley A Dewar - Страница 15

My Dad was twenty-three when I was born and stood around 5”8 with a short dark greasy rock n roller style hair do. He was a very handsome dude back then with gorgeous bright green eyes.

He too had been married three times; the first being to my Mum who had three children to him. The second marriage consisted of one child whom I have been close to on and off throughout the years but she has shut herself off from me too many times so I don’t bother trying to get close to her anymore. In my father’s third marriage, he had another two children but I don’t see them.

Apparently my Dad only got his fatherly instincts when I was born.

Why me? Obviously he had matured more when I was born and finally realized he had a responsibility in being a father.

Because of this, it just happened to be me he ever changed diapers for and he even took the liberty to name me. From birth to the time he left as such, I always felt like his little princess.

Maybe this could explain that when he did leave, I felt as though I was affected the most or so I thought at the time. Looking back now and even though they were older and could understand more, it still must have hurt as much for my brother and sister. I have often felt that my brother and sister have thought I was more special to my father than them but this is not the case. I never felt any more special at all because not only did he abandon them, he abandoned me as well.

I know deep down and as sad as it is to say, Dad leaving has affected each of us, in our own different way.

To me when one parent who impacted your early years in life and not just mine but my siblings also, it has to affect you in some way.

So what impact would this have on myself personally and my future?

While growing up, it was always in the back of my mind and I often wondered, “How could the only man in my life whom I loved, just up and leave?”

How was one supposed to feel other than anger and being envious of those who had a home with both a Mother and Father? I felt rejected, abandoned and always fearful of never being good enough not to mention my faith and trust had been destroyed completely.

It never got any better either. It seemed to get worse as I got older. Seeing the abuse of alcohol, drugs and violence only in men caused me to despise them all and I couldn’t help the way I felt. I would look at them as if they were pieces of shit and all tarred with the same brush. This wasn’t a very nice way to live my life and it was affecting my everyday living.

Even though my father wasn’t an abusive man toward my Mum or us kids, there was one incident I do remember when he was though. I was around three or four at the time and it really frightened me big time. My father had come home drunk and for some reason he was in a really bad mood and because of this he started picking on my Mum which started an argument between them. Mum, back then didn’t tolerate shit from anyone, especially my Dad so she did her best and tried to ignore him. This wasn’t working so she took me into their bedroom to get away from him but it only made matters worse. He didn’t like being ignored so he followed us and because his anger and frustrations had got the better of him he threatened to shoot the both of us. My mum then started yelling at him that he was nothing but a drunken bastard and to go to bed. Wrong! He then turned into a raving lunatic, dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed to get his rifle. When he got up, he pointed it straight at us and then decided to bail us up in the bedroom corner. All I remember doing was crying and screaming and wondering why my Daddy wanted to hurt me or my Mummy? My Mum was so scared for me that she wrapped her body around me whilst trying to calm him down enough so we could make a run for it to the neighbour's house and call the police. But what happened next, I would call a miracle and God was obviously watching over us! Dad all of a sudden had this uncontrollable urge to pee and bolted to the toilet. This was the lucky break we needed to get out and Mum didn't waste any time either. First she had to make sure Dad was nowhere to be seen and when there was no sign of him she quickly huddled with me to get out of the house. Once we were out, she grabbed my hand and we both ran as fast as we could to the neighbour's (Elaine’s) house. Once there, Mum was bashing on her door and as soon as Elaine opened it, Mum said, “Quick, call the police.” (We never had a telephone back then) Elaine certainly didn’t hesitate at all.

Knowing they had been called, Mum decided it would be pretty safe to go back home because they never took long back in those days.

The police virtually arrived all of about five minutes later and to their surprise, my father had showered and dressed all ready to go with them to the police station.

I mean, what idiot does that? They must have thought he was a nut!

The only thing they did was to take his rifle and warn him that if he ever did anything like that again, he would go to jail for attempted murder. He never did it again!

Even though my relationship with my Dad was a fairly close one, I still secretly struggled with my feelings toward him for many years. That of being abandoned and rejected gnawed at me nearly every day since he left. Those thoughts of how could you leave us? Didn’t you love us enough to stay? Even though I never told him how I felt, I silently blamed him for the things I went through in my childhood. I always thought that if he had of stayed, I or we would not have had to experience all of the pain and fear we did throughout our lives.

It took me until I was around forty (We were sitting at my kitchen table after a party) to finally approach him about how I felt and how it had affected me and my life, not to mention how angry it had made me. When he heard all this, he grabbed my hand and we were both crying. He then opened up and told me the truth of how it also hurt him and that it was the biggest mistake of his life. He then told me he still loved my Mum and how things could have been so different if he had of stayed. He was so sorry he left us and that we had to endure the things that didn’t seem normal to us. Hearing him as to how sorry he was, gave me a calmness I hadn’t felt in a long time. I was now able to put things into perspective and I realised then, that it wasn’t my father who raised the hand that hurt any of us and I told him this. He then explained to me that we are all separate individuals and can only blame those who do the deed. His words helped me immensely and lifted a weight off me that night. That pain and anger I had felt toward him for so many years almost went there and then.

At the end of our conversation, I told him I was now able to forgive him and that I loved him.