I was shattered…

Your piercing words that you kept uttering ion my ear rang in my head.

You’d said how disappointed you are in me. Yet, I was ashamed of pointing in your direction whenever I was asked to whom I belonged. I’m sorry, I didn’t meet your expectations. Daddy, I’m sorry, I wasn’t the girl you thought would wear a black and red gown before she fell in love.

Fell in love? No. See I didn’t fall in love because if I was in love, maybe I’d be with him in his house, raising our kid. They say love conquers all, and that’s what I thought when I came back to your house.

I knew I was your daughter and you were my father and that what we had never changed. But the minute you saw the faded figured on my waist, fire emerged in your eyes.

A bitch. You called me a bitch. You were angry, I didn’t take that personally.

I knew you’d come around, but it took longer than expected. But after you called me that, you commanded that I get rid of it. Now that, that was personal. You’re a priest, so you kept on saying. Being a religious man was what you kept on rephrasing. I wasn’t going to embarrass you to your congregation. But see Dad, you never asked if you were the perfect dad in the eyes of my best friends.

Maybe you knew the answer was no, but that doesn’t matter. Because, Daddy, you sent me to the hospital to get rid of what was growing inside me. I cried, it was too late for that and that if I went through with it, I’d die. But you… you told me you don’t care. You said I have cost you real pain, and that I deserved every inch of pain that came my way.

I refused to go. I kept the baby, and each time you looked my way, you wished I was dead, and you were not my dad. But that’s OK because I wronged you. It was OK when I gave birth to a baby boy, and you commanded me to accept your religion.

The same religion that gave you the idea to put me in front of your congregation, as an example of a mistake. I understand, you were angry, but it was nothing personal. They all had something to say about me, and you were siding with them.

See I didn’t mind about what you said, but you started talking about my son like I wasn’t present. You said things that made me wish I hadn’t kept the pregnancy. Because, Daddy, you got personal, and you were too angry to understand that.

Still, I wronged you, so I kept calm.

How fair it was for you to point your finger at me and say I was a disgrace, how I failed you? But Daddy, with guts, I will correct that statement, and say you failed me.

Where were you when I was raped? Where were you when I was depressed, suffering anxiety fostered during adolescent? I was only a lost teenage girl in a cruel world. All I needed was an ear of a mother, but see, you kept me away from her.

Smart, your idea was smart, like they always are, that I should stay with you and be in one of the best schools in town. Good for you. I finished my matric, but bad again, I had a child. So what was the point?

But again, I understand, it was all my fault, nothing personal.

I survived. I lived. I breathed the same air as you did. And, with love, cooked food for you but you, you didn’t want anything to do with me, nor what concerned me, it’s okay, I get it, I was wrong.

I was wrong, and you were angry, it’s nothing personal.

As days went by and I trying so hard to stay calm, you got too excited and you joked about my painful life in front of my siblings. Now Daddy that, that was damn personal. So, I left the comedy scene, I went to my room with a masked smile, and when the door shut behind me, I broke into tears.

Right there and then I knew I couldn’t take it. I saw a razor blade reflecting on the mirror on top of the drawer, and I went for it. I picked it up and quickly stuck it on my wrist, but before I could slit my veins, his voice cried from his sleep. He saved me from giving up on you. I realized I was about to kill myself because of you.

But you, you are not worth it. And as I’ve said, I wronged you, so it’s nothing personal.


Tell us what you think: Why do you think some parents are like the dad in the piece? Are teenagers misunderstood?