This is the faint memory of how it all began. I remember my mom waking me up at the crack of dawn. She signalled me to become quiet so that I did not wake up my drunk dad. I mean that is normally what toddlers do right? They pace up and down making a lot of noise. She took my small red and yellow backpack and shoved in a few of my clothes. She  lifted me up and tip-toed out of the house, shutting the door behind her. 

We headed to the bus station.  I still recall the fear in her eyes as she noticed that there was a man running behind us. She said to me: “Do not fear, he won’t harm us because if he tries the Ndebele men will beat him up,” referring to the taxi drivers. 

We rushed to hide in some construction site hole that was dug next to the road. My mother was relieved when the man passed by and saw that he was not my dad.

We caught a taxi from Pretoria to Middelburg where my aunt lives.  That is how we left my dad behind. He became abusive every weekend when he got drunk and my mom could not take the beating anymore. 

I have grown from a toddler to a teenager, from a teenager to the 23-year-old young adult that I am today. My dad never tried to get in touch with me. He missed out on 20 years of my life: my birthdays, first day at school and first day at university. I envied girls who said good things about their dad. I hated Father’s Day so much that I avoided all kinds of social media the entire day. I just could not bear the pain of seeing proud daughters and sons posting their fathers while I had nothing to say about mine.

I had one friend who had a very good relationship with her father. He  called her frequently to check up on her. I shared a room with her and witnessed the joy and smile  on her face each day when her dad called her. To me, that was a constant reminder of what I was missing. I lost all hope of my father ever reaching out to me.  I had to accept the fact that he exists in this world but not in my world. I had to learn to let go of all the bitterness and hatred I had for him and make room for peace and healing. I have learned to live with the void of his absence –  the scar which he could have prevented.