Dancing with my father was never easy. For I danced without knowing what dance it was, and me being inept at it. What with my two left feet and deafness to rythm.A foxtrot soon turned into a waltz, then a ‘muthuunguci’ and sooner than I knew, it had already become a ballet. At this juncture , I was expected to execute a spectacular performance, the kind that hushes a crowd- a divine prayer on stage. Quite a tall order to expect from a left handicap, and me being the ugly duckling!
Clearly my lot in life was to never satisfy nor gratify my father’s lofty expectations. Inspite of my herculian efforts, and I promise you I tried! Oh! how I craved my father’s approval. That someday he would look upon me with some semblance of…no,not pride, I was beneath that. Not love, God forbid I could never achieve it. Not appreciation, that would be asking for to much! Not respect, that was the preserve of equals.
All I wanted to see in his eyes was recognition that he beheld a human being. That yes, I was inadequate. Yes, I was not aesthetically stimulating. But if I tried hard enough, I might even be good enough to be his footstool.
“But father, could you have loved me if I was born a son? Did I choose to be born a ’second class’ citizen ? And not even a worthy one at that?”
So I did what I could, to at least earn bonus points so that in the next life, I would be reincarnated as a butterfly.
I learnt to approach my father’s throne of mercy. With my back bent over backwards, my heart filled with trepidation and my eyes begging, searching, hoping, praying.
My knees got scraped and worn out. Soon enough, there was no skin on them- only a thin covering of tanned hide. As for my mind, why, I didn’t even have that.
So I learnt my father’s language. Anticipated the questions, the comma, the hyphen, the quotation marks. Punctuating his life that I may be of value. That I maybe fit to eat the scraps that fell off his table, for this was the reserve of his pet dogs.
Now you know how far down the pecking order I was.
When my father died, I lost the meaning of life. I floated around awhile looking for an anchor. Like a parasitic plant that lives off another.
Now that you know my life story, why do you come here to tell me that you love me? How am I supposed to believe that if the man whose loins begot me never saw me even as a human being leave alone worthy of a little love?
How can I love you, Oh! how how I want to and believe you and in you; while I await to receive validation from the one man who can give it but will not?
For even in death, he is silent to me, as he was in this life.
