Post by Aiden Morrow on Jun 18, 2017 21:16:26 GMT -5
[Off Camera]
[The Meaning of Father's Day]
[June 18th, 2017]
Father’s day… It’s supposed to be a day of joy. It’s supposed to be a reminder of how great your dad is, a reminder of how he’s your superhero. Memories of the jokes you made together, all of those times he picked you up off of the ground and playfully threw you in the air, scaring your mother to death because she thought eventually he wouldn’t catch you and you’d slip right through his arms; but not you, you knew that no matter what happened, your dad was going to catch you every damn time. And in those instances where you did fall down? He would pick you up, clean up whatever cuts you have and tell you it’s going to be okay.
You remember all the times he taught you how to be a man. How he taught you how to fix things; things like changing a tire, changing your oil, fixing a hole in the wall, doing yard work, or even things like tying your shoes. Then there were the talks. He was always interested in what was going on in your life and he was always ready and willing to offer up advice to you from his own experiences. You didn’t always listen to him, even though you knew he was right the majority of the time. Even when the world seemed like a big and scary place, it seemed like he was there at the right moment at the right time to tell you that everything is going to be alright, that you just need to be strong and believe it.
You remember how your dad was always to give it to you straight. While your mom was more tactical in what she said, trying to spare your feelings, your dad was there to tell you how it is and it wasn’t to hurt you, it was so that you could be the best version of yourself that you could ever be. And most of all? You remember him being your bodyguard. He would be the one to protect you from any harm that came your way. If the kid down the street or some bully at school was picking on you, you can bet your dad would eventually be there to scare that kid away. You always felt safe in his arms.
These are the things people remember on Father’s Day. These are the moments they hold dear to their heart and cherish… But not me. No, I didn’t have any of this. It’s not because I had a dad who ran away or because my dad died when I was younger. It’s because my dad was a horrible person. A man who yelled and screamed in my face, a man who constantly called me a disappointment. I took verbal and physical beatings from him and my mother growing up. I was a star athlete in high school but they pulled me out of wrestling, basketball and soccer because I was putting too much attention on myself.
They said I was putting myself and my needs before God. They forced their beliefs on me and they tortured me for wanting to do anything to make myself happy. But worst of all? They tortured my sister, Sophie. Whenever they went to hit her, I stood in their way and I took the beating. Until one day my mom did put her hands on her and I had enough. I got in her face and then my dad got in mine. I was 17 years old and I finally had enough of this.
I had enough of sitting back and letting these things happen. I was tired of living in fear, tired of nobody listening to my sister and my pleas for help. We were ignored and our parents were deemed the perfect parents with the perfect family… Until I decided to rearrange my dad’s face. I wrestled him to the ground and I hit him in the face so many times that I left him with a pair of black eyes and a broken nose until Sophie wrestled me off of me. My mom called the cops on me and the rest is history. I was kicked out and disowned. But in all reality, I earned my freedom, though it was at a cost… Living Sophie to deal on her own.
The memories of what Sophie and I had to go through throughout our lives are what I’m reminded of on Father’s Day. The memory of me leaving Sophie to deal on her own for three years until she went off to attend college at UNLV forever haunt me. I don’t know what she went through and to this day, she won’t talk about it… So I stopped asking but I never stopped thinking about it. Especially on this day of all days. While the majority of our population celebrate this day for their dad or as a father… I don’t celebrate it at all.
I don’t look forward to it but it’s the opposite. The day scares me every year because it makes me feel the 17 years of torture I went through. It serves as a reminder of what my parents think of me… That they deemed me unworthy of their love and affection. It’s a day where I have to offer up everyone around me a fake smile and pretend that I’m alright but the thing is? I’m not alright. I’ll never fully be alright… And Father’s Day will always be here to remind me of that.
[End]
[The Meaning of Father's Day]
[June 18th, 2017]
[Inner Thoughts]
Father’s day… It’s supposed to be a day of joy. It’s supposed to be a reminder of how great your dad is, a reminder of how he’s your superhero. Memories of the jokes you made together, all of those times he picked you up off of the ground and playfully threw you in the air, scaring your mother to death because she thought eventually he wouldn’t catch you and you’d slip right through his arms; but not you, you knew that no matter what happened, your dad was going to catch you every damn time. And in those instances where you did fall down? He would pick you up, clean up whatever cuts you have and tell you it’s going to be okay.
You remember all the times he taught you how to be a man. How he taught you how to fix things; things like changing a tire, changing your oil, fixing a hole in the wall, doing yard work, or even things like tying your shoes. Then there were the talks. He was always interested in what was going on in your life and he was always ready and willing to offer up advice to you from his own experiences. You didn’t always listen to him, even though you knew he was right the majority of the time. Even when the world seemed like a big and scary place, it seemed like he was there at the right moment at the right time to tell you that everything is going to be alright, that you just need to be strong and believe it.
You remember how your dad was always to give it to you straight. While your mom was more tactical in what she said, trying to spare your feelings, your dad was there to tell you how it is and it wasn’t to hurt you, it was so that you could be the best version of yourself that you could ever be. And most of all? You remember him being your bodyguard. He would be the one to protect you from any harm that came your way. If the kid down the street or some bully at school was picking on you, you can bet your dad would eventually be there to scare that kid away. You always felt safe in his arms.
These are the things people remember on Father’s Day. These are the moments they hold dear to their heart and cherish… But not me. No, I didn’t have any of this. It’s not because I had a dad who ran away or because my dad died when I was younger. It’s because my dad was a horrible person. A man who yelled and screamed in my face, a man who constantly called me a disappointment. I took verbal and physical beatings from him and my mother growing up. I was a star athlete in high school but they pulled me out of wrestling, basketball and soccer because I was putting too much attention on myself.
They said I was putting myself and my needs before God. They forced their beliefs on me and they tortured me for wanting to do anything to make myself happy. But worst of all? They tortured my sister, Sophie. Whenever they went to hit her, I stood in their way and I took the beating. Until one day my mom did put her hands on her and I had enough. I got in her face and then my dad got in mine. I was 17 years old and I finally had enough of this.
I had enough of sitting back and letting these things happen. I was tired of living in fear, tired of nobody listening to my sister and my pleas for help. We were ignored and our parents were deemed the perfect parents with the perfect family… Until I decided to rearrange my dad’s face. I wrestled him to the ground and I hit him in the face so many times that I left him with a pair of black eyes and a broken nose until Sophie wrestled me off of me. My mom called the cops on me and the rest is history. I was kicked out and disowned. But in all reality, I earned my freedom, though it was at a cost… Living Sophie to deal on her own.
The memories of what Sophie and I had to go through throughout our lives are what I’m reminded of on Father’s Day. The memory of me leaving Sophie to deal on her own for three years until she went off to attend college at UNLV forever haunt me. I don’t know what she went through and to this day, she won’t talk about it… So I stopped asking but I never stopped thinking about it. Especially on this day of all days. While the majority of our population celebrate this day for their dad or as a father… I don’t celebrate it at all.
I don’t look forward to it but it’s the opposite. The day scares me every year because it makes me feel the 17 years of torture I went through. It serves as a reminder of what my parents think of me… That they deemed me unworthy of their love and affection. It’s a day where I have to offer up everyone around me a fake smile and pretend that I’m alright but the thing is? I’m not alright. I’ll never fully be alright… And Father’s Day will always be here to remind me of that.
[End]
