Tuesday, June 20, 2017

I Hated my Father's guts that Day

My beautiful mother 
Hey Dad, here is another memory that won’t leave me.

I remember one afternoon, after school and all of us were sitting around the long table having lunch.   You had that look in your eye.  The one you got when you were going to do something bad.   You had the spoon in the syrup bowl and you were turning it around and around and looking around and around at each one of us and as quick as lightening, you removed that spoon from the bowl and painted my mother’s face with the syrup.   Why?   Why did you have to humiliate her like that?   When she tried to get up you held her down.   When I tried to get up to help her you held me down.   You said people need to know their place in life.  Seeing the syrup run down my mother’s beautiful face and drip onto her blouse was more than I could bare.  Your action was deliberately done to humiliate my mother.   I still feel for my mother’s humiliation.  I wish you had done that to me instead.   Then you took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom and the door was shut.   We heard no noise.   Nothing.    I hated your guts that day.  
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