Daddy Has A Lot Of Things To Do

To my surprise, I was awakened by an explosion that rattled the foundation of my house like an oncoming wave smashing into the pier. The sound of shards of glass falling down on the tile floor below the impact was audible. My sister and I had a large, gold-framed mirror hung in the midst of a lot of school shots, so I knew it was the culprit right away. The pieces of glass on the corridor next to my bedroom reflected the light from my nightlight like a light show. Moments before the tornado struck and wiped out entire cities, everything was as calm as the air. The sound of my mother's weeping broke the slumber. My world was wiped clean that night without the need for a storm or any other natural disaster. It only took a few short seconds. My dad was everything that was needed.

For as long as I can remember, as a child, I thought my father was a superhero with no cape and my mother was an antagonist who worked tirelessly to rid the world of all fun. UFC fights, which take place at 10:00 p.m., were never on my mother's list of acceptable viewing options for her girls, who are just 5 years old. "Nancy, what's the big deal?" my father exclaimed. A good time has been had by all of us. I don't care what you do, go clean or whatever." My sister and I thought it was amusing at the time, and that it was all in the name of keeping the good time we were having private. When I was a kid, my sister and I thought my dad was the funniest person in the planet. He never failed to lighten the mood with his quick wit and ability to turn any situation into an amusing one. While my mother cried a lot, I didn't shed any tears. In reality, it's every night. Mom, on the other hand, is going to be more appealing to a 5-year-old who was carried around on his back and fed soda and sweets by a male. My father had a cape on until I noticed the cans he always drank from, which I was not permitted to touch. When my hero drank these cans, he'd become a villain, furious at the slightest comment he didn't like. He had the power to change a blue sky into a black abyss at a moment's notice. However, before the night of the mirror, I had never felt terrified of my father. My parents were standing over my mother when I awoke. There was a sense of urgency in her movements as if the house was on fire and we had only a few seconds to get out. With two luggage in her hands, my mother swooped down and cradled me and my sister in her arms. "You will never see us again," she murmured to my father as we strolled into the night.

When I was eight years old, I regained faith in the idea of a father for the first time in my life. I thought so, too. My mother decided to reintroduce the idea of a father figure to me after a period of time without one. On the way to our new house, my sister was quite hesitant and refused to get in the car. I, on the other hand, am a perpetual optimist and choose to see only the good in this situation. Never once did I entertain the possibility that he might be a bad guy. It's amusing to see how various people's minds work in different ways to progress or stall. My sister and I had assumed the roles that my mother and father had previously played in this family. My mother's melancholy, withdrawn personality had rubbed off on my sister, who had evolved into a happy, outgoing, and carefree one. As a means to cope with the loss of her father, my sister resolved to resent all male figures in her life and to avoid all types of intimate contact. I had determined that the best way to deal with my grief was to throw all of myself into men. I put my faith in them, but I was blinded by my preconceived notions of who they should be. This was also something my mother tried. My new stepfather was a wonderful person to be around at first, full of energy, mirth, and compassion. We quickly learned that he had a poisonous tongue and would spew venom at you with his comments. He was a very different creature from my father. Throwing items and slamming walls with his fists was his favorite pastime. Because of this, he seemed to grow in proportion to your diminutive stature. My mother's explanation for his behavior was that he was bipolar. Six years into the problem, it was finally brought to an end. Another hero had perished on the same night my father became the villain.

Men saw me as something they could destroy when I was just 14 years old. I'd unwittingly renounced my value. The subtlety with which one loses one's self is astounding. Allowing myself to believe that boys were men was the first step in the process. I thought that men leaving was natural, and that there were methods I could keep them around. I could make them better, and I could finally have a hero to call my own. Being raised in an environment where insults and sarcasm are more common than words of goodwill makes this your new normal. As a result, the guys I allowed into my life represented every character fault my previous role model fathers had in abundance. For as long as they spoke, I would let them attack my identity with every syllable. The only thing I knew was that I was exactly what they described me as being. I got exactly what I believed I deserved. Lack of masculine role models, protectors, or leaders might have a detrimental effect on one's character in the future. If you have ever had an abusive, corrupted male figure in your life, you know that you will always be fighting for your worth.

Healing occurred when I was 18 years old. On a Sunday morning, I recall sitting in church. I had no interest in or thought it was relevant to what the pastor was saying about marriage. He went on and on on the importance of having a supporting, kind, and faithful spouse in your life. His remarks reverberated around the space like the roar of an air conditioner. The spoken words were audible for a brief moment before fading away into the background. In a daydream, my thoughts wandered so far that it felt as if the ground shook and the earth ceased to exist. Again. "Wives should love their husbands like Christ loved the church," the preacher stated as he seemed to focus solely on me. The message's title, "Selflessness," was the term that shifted my perception of myself. I came to the realization that I had been living in a shadow cast over me by people who were incapable of selflessness. Because I didn't think I was worth the sacrifice of a life, I had put a limit on what I deserved. In my early twenties, I recovered my worth and eliminated the notion that it could only be found within a guy. Since that day, I've been the sole one in charge of my life and my emotions. Thank God for the failings of men in my life, since they taught me to become my own hero.