The Father I Once Knew

Did you love her? You always scream at each other, I can’t tell if it was out of love or pure anger. Mother screams first, then after a while you scream back at her. She said words that she told me to never say, but then why is she saying them to you? You and mother are screaming and then-

Bang.

You left.

Mother won’t tell me why.

I still wonder why you left.

I asked her about you

“Mom… where’s Daddy.”

she didn’t answer me at first

-I asked again-

“mom-“

“He’s gone!”

she screamed in an explosive manner.

This was always her way of getting me to stay silent. A quick tightening feeling in my throat appeared, as if someone was midway up my throat pressing their thumb like doing so was the only way for them to get a million dollars. My vision became blurry, I felt cold drops of water on my face as my cheeks became red hot and I let out a small sniff, this happens when mother decides to take her anger out on me.

She can’t see me like this.

The first thought that comes to mind when this happens, she would be mean to me again if I showed her I was hurt. As I wiped away the water, I felt the emptiness in my heart and in the house as I realize that you aren’t home.

You didn’t come back home that night. I don’t know when you will be back home. Brother doesn’t seem to care as much as I do, him being older than me I think he knows more than I do about why you left. Mother still looks mad but she also looks sad, her looks like that time I accidentally broke one of her favorite mugs that came from Mexico, I think grandma gave it to her. I have never seen her sad, I don’t know what to do.

I think it’s been a while since I have seen you. I think I was in kindergarten last time I saw you I am now in the second grade. Mother looks happier now, but she has her days when she talks about money-we aren’t allowed to talk about it.

I came home from school and as we walk through the door, Mother picks up her phone and she doesn’t look happy. She starts talking in Spanish I can’t understand everything she says, while you were gone she never continued teaching me Spanish—she tried but she’s always gone and we don’t get much time together. She keeps talking and I hear her say one name—

It’s yours.

“Is that Daddy?”

I scream in joy hoping that mother would pass me the phone.

Mother shushes me as a way to keep me quiet but I couldn’t resist.

“Daddy!”

I scream towards the phone,

“When are you coming?”

Mother gives me a nasty look, but again-I pay no attention to her nasty looks.

Mother gave me no reply to what you might have said.

She talks to you for another two minutes and she hangs up the phone.

She turns to me and says,

“He wants to pick you and your brother up on Saturday, he will call back tomorrow.”

She says with hardly any emotion she almost looks hurt.

I jumped for joy,

“You are coming! I can’t wait!”

You called and asked me what I wanted to do on Saturday, I told you we should go to the beach! Then we could go get ice cream and maybe just drive around.

“Saturday is going to be so much fun!”

I told you repeatedly.

Brother didn’t want to talk to you on the phone, I am the only one excited to talk to you.

I got ready. My hair was brushed neatly, I wore my favorite shirt.

I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled.

“Daddy will be here soon, I should put on my shoes,”

I thought.

My mind began to race and started thinking I needed things that would be useless but I wanted to take it to show you.

“Maybe I should bring my test from last week and show him how well I have been doing in school.”

I wanted you to be proud of me-

“I wanted you to be proud enough to come back.”

This was my thought every day after you left.

I waited, as time went by, Brother gave up on waiting for you.

“You shouldn’t wait for him, you’re going to waste your time.”

I tried so hard to not listen to him but then my mind began to go to the dark place,

“You said we would go get ice cream, you said we could go to my favorite beach this time we would tell jokes in the car and we would laugh until we couldn’t breathe anymore.”

My mind started replaying the conversation we had before this day. I didn’t have the day wrong, no—it’s not too early, where were you? I waited hours for you to show up, but mother told me to give up on you too. I couldn’t though. I tried to shake the bad thoughts out of my head. I kept waiting for you. Hours passed as I waited by the door eagerly awaiting to see your car pull up to the front of the house. I would draw, tap my foot and count the tiles on the floor to pass the time, and as every car passed my patience to see you slowly faded. You didn’t show up. Why? How could someone who is supposed to love you so much not be there for you? I forgave you—like I always do. You told me next time we will go see my favorite movie and this time you,

“REALLY promise to be here.”

“So that means you can’t break this promise, right? After all, you’re my dad and you love me,”

I thought to myself.

You kept breaking promises, but I kept waiting for you to show up and I kept forgiving you. Some days you actually came and I was happy those days. As I got older you didn’t come around as often, and as I grew my patience to wait slowly disappeared. You liked to go away every once in a while and wouldn’t come back until the holidays, then you’d be gone again.

You broke my heart on my 17th birthday, you stole money from grandma, you lied to me about it, you lied to everyone, and you felt no remorse.

“I got your Christmas presents with it. Didn’t you want your presents?”

That was your claim.

“That money wasn’t for you to use for our presents, you were supposed to just give us the money. Grandma doesn’t like that you bought our presents with the money. That was our Christmas present from her!”

Anger was the only emotion I was able to project.

“Fine, I will give you the cash,”

was your solution.

“Give the money to grandma, I don’t want anything from you anymore.”

After that day, I no longer wanted to see you. I never wanted to call you my dad again, but like always, I forgave you.

Mom convinced me to talk to you again especially since I would be leaving to college and it was time for you to help me. As much as I wanted to say no, I listened to her and I let you back into my life. This moment lies my biggest mistake, regret, and disappointment I will hold towards myself for letting you back in my life.

Sure, you gave me forty dollars a month, but that no longer means anything after the way you hurt me. You were there when I was feeling at my all-time low, but I went even lower and I made sure you were not there, and I came out stronger.

You might be wondering why exactly am I writing about you.

All you need to know is that, you disappointed me. You made me believe in a fairy tale,

“Every father will love their daughter more than any other person.”

Unfortunately that isn’t true for me, is it? For my graduation I got a picture frame and you gave Brother Beats headphones, you told him,

“Good job.”

I got a,

“You don’t deserve this.”

I don’t know if you meant it as a joke or not but it hurt anyway. You bought brother a car paid in full, and you left me to pay for my own when you promised you would take care of it.

I don’t know if you ever loved me and I may never know if you ever did, but I know for sure I don’t need you to love myself. You don’t deserve the title father, dad, or daddy. I wish there was something else I could call you but one thing is for sure, I will always call you my biggest shame.

You told me I didn’t deserve a picture frame for my high school graduation well you don’t deserve to be at my next graduation, you don’t deserve to be at my wedding when I will actually marry someone who will love me more than you ever did, and you don’t deserve to be there for any future accomplishments in my life. A real father would deserve to be there. I wonder if you will ever feel the pain I felt. I wonder if you will ever call me again and ask yourself why I wasn’t picking up. I wonder if you will think to yourself if I was thinking about you. Well keep wondering, because I had to deal with these thoughts—now it’s your turn.