When my mom and I disagreed, I ran to the only person who I thought loved me. He didn't abandon me, at least not as a four-year-old.
Year after year, I'd spend occasional summers with him. I was young, younger than ten. I'd play Snake on his computer, along with tetris and chess. Occasionally, I'd come across pictures and videos that scarred me for life. Never the same person. Never my mother.
At times I remember violent arguments between my parents. I could hear them because our place was small. We all shared a bedroom. I heard every shout and slap. I cried. Why were they fighting? My big sister took me into the closet and explained to me that when people fight that means they love each other.
I blamed my mother for not letting dad come live with us, I blamed her for pushing him away, and I blamed her for all the holidays, New Years, Christmas, and our birthdays, that he didn't spend with us.
Over the summer, I helped him in every way I could. We opened a gas station together, and I took it as a bonding activity. I stocked all the shelves, made orders, tended the register, while my dad rested in the back. I learned every brand of cigarette, cigars, chewing tobacco, and beer, long before I was in middle school. I knew they were all adult things. Those summer days I spent in that gas station I learned a lot, but I seemed to see less of my father. I began to notice his habits. I knew when he drank he did things he wasn't supposed to, like run red lights. I thought if I got rid of the problem, he'd understand that he scared me. Every night upon closing the store, he'd lay out bottles of Heineken to take home with him. I broke them. I took every single one and smashed it on the ground in front of him. When he had cans, I poured them down the sink, making sure he was watching. He scolded me. I had never been yelled at like that. For the first time, he instilled fear in me. Fear of him.
I wanted to go home, to my mom. But at home, I could never get my mom's attention. I was shy. My big sister wasn't. I felt ignored, lonely, and unloved.
Again, I turned back to my dad.
There were always women, in and out. Strangers. I wondered why my mom and he were never like that. I thought that was how it was supposed to be. At least that's what I saw in other people's homes.
Then out of nowhere, Mom told me we were getting a baby. I knew what it looked like when a baby was coming. I saw the baby grow in my mom's tummy when my little sister was born. It definitely did not look like we were having a baby.
But we did. A boy.
When I mentioned to Mom that he kinda looked like me when I was a kid, she hushed me and reminded me that we had adopted him. My father had always wanted a boy.
My father's advice for me for as long as I remember:
1. The first thing to look for in a man is a high credit score.
2. NEVER...EVER...HAVE CHILDREN.
I didn't want children. I don't know why he would tell me that. Nor did I have the slightest idea what a credit score was and how that had to do with what a man was like.
I started spending more time at home with my mom and the baby. She needed the help. Plus my dad had this new lady friend who he always stayed with.
I begged my dad to come home and if he did, to stay for the night. It was sometimes scary in our new house, and he was the only person I felt safe around. He always told me he couldn't because the house was a mess. He said he couldn't live in that mess.
Right then and there, I began cleaning the house. Attic to garage and everything in between. I had never seen the house so clean. He came by, but refused to stay.
I maybe didn't clean the house well enough.
I tried again.
When I was in seventh grade, my mom had begun working again. There were days when I stayed home from school because I had to take care of my new baby brother. He was adorable, so I didn't mind. But then he called me "Mom," and I almost dropped him. That was the first word he said, but eventually I taught him how to say balloon and ball and some strange word my father called me. Gootudu. He was good at saying that. And his laugh was infectious. When he ran into a table and hurt himself, I'd hit the table and say "bad table." If he got a scratch on his arm, I kissed it and said "all gone." And he was happy again.
It wasn't until I was a little older that I began understanding the things I noticed.
My dad finally did come home one day, but he brought that woman. I didn't like her. When she called, I'd take my clarinet and make the most obnoxious music straight into the telephone. Then I hung up. I got a sense of pride out of doing this.
But that day they came to our house, I noticed my mom. I finally understood a little of how she felt because I felt it for her. I didn't recognize the feeling because I hadn't really ever had it before. It was strange. The baby was that woman's, but she didn't want him...yet, she came to our house and had to sleep in the master bedroom with her baby and my dad. I saw my mom drink for the first time in her life. I'd never seen her act like this, but she crawled up the stairs. She came and slept by me and mumbled things I didn't comprehend. I knew she was upset. I was upset for her.
How could she let my dad sleep with that horrid woman? I asked her. All she said was "the baby has to sleep between them." And I nodded off to sleep.
Things seemed to escalate between my father and me. He made many promises, none of which he could keep. I don't know if he cared that I wept. I told him I was okay and hugged him tight. And when he looked me in the eyes and told me a lie, I believed him. Every time.
My older sister was graduating from Mississippi School for Math and Science, and we were all taking a trip to Columbus, MS. I was excited because rarely did we get to do anything as a family. But we were all going. Dad, Mom, my little sister, and I. My big sister would be there, of course. I knew this was one of the most meaningful days of my mom's life. Her first daughter was graduating, and I artfully sneaked in the fact that this wasn't her only child. She'd get to see two more graduations. Or so I thought.
But that morning, I saw my mom upset, maybe even angry or sad. It was hard to discern what she was feeling although I could feel that she was pissed off. When dad finally got to where we were all staying in Columbus, I saw his button down shirt torn. I saw scratches and blood on him. I demanded to know what happened. Later I learned by eavesdropping on my parents conversation. There was a fight and confrontation. The baby's mom wanted Dad to bring the baby to graduation. My mom didn't think it was a good idea, especially since a baby crying is just enough to ruin the mood of all the families who could hear. But that woman insisted. She told my mom that she was having an affair with my dad (as if this was still a secret). My mom knew, but didn't care to hear it. She left. But that woman attacked my father. And left both my parents in a miserable mood.
I know that my little sister and I were beaming with pride when we saw the older one get her diploma. All I could think was...at least we're all together.
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