Taking a Stand

      Looking back now on that dark overcast day in the December of 1984, I still marvel at the courage and yet foolhardy way that I took a stand against myoverbearing, domineering and neglectful father.  I had just celebrated my eighteenth birthday. There had been nothing exciting about it, even before the day came, I could have predicted, even with the uncertainty of time, how it would have been spent.  I would be told ‘Happy Birthday’ by my mother as she hurried off to work.  My siblings would not even remember as birthdays were not a time of celebration in our house.  We did not share that spirit of love and unity which would have made a poor household rise above the constraints of poverty to make a child remember such an important event in her life.

    As I stood facing the kitchen sink filled with greasy and grimy wares, I pondered over which aspect of cleaning the kitchen should be attempted first.  I then decided to scrub the surface of the stove as was indeed a task to clean after my mother had completed her delightful cooking.  As I moved closer to the stove, a six feet iron T square became dislodged from its position behind the gas bottle and fell barely  missing my foot. I was furious, eighteen years of anger snapped.  I just shouted to the top of my voice that I did not know why the hell, after all those years of working by father could not build a tool shed for his tools.

    Daddy was a first class joiner and carpenter and I had often heard the neighbours whispering amongst themselves about how expensive he was to hire.  In addition I had also heard the gossip of how ‘wufless’ he was and according to the neighbours, testimony to his sexual prowess was his twenty-three children in the village whom he would not support.  As for me, I was the last of the brood.  It is often implied that the last child is the spoilt child and the ‘pet’ or baby of the family.  However, this did not hold true in my case. I was taunted by my father from the time I could remember.  He had several names for me but his favourite was ‘Invie’.  This name cut me to the core each time I heard it, yet it was not as bad as the alternative which he used synonymously ‘Assie’.

    And how had I earned this endearing ‘pet’ name by him?  When I was a little girl, I kept close to my mother and by so doing; this prevented him from asserting his husbandly rights when he came home at the crack of dawn after a night out with his mistress.  I was the unwanted linen on his bed. 

    In addition, I must admit that I had deceived my father into believing that I was stupid.  I never answered any question he asked.  I would always tell him that I did not know the answer.  That was my way of cutting the conversation short, which minimized my contact with him.

    Years of enduring daddy’s sneers and degrading remarks had brought me to the moment when I finally had reached a legal age where I could express the voice that cried in my heart and screamed in my head.  I told me to take no more from this selfish, neglectful man who after sixty years of life he did not know his duties as my father.

    As I cried out about the annoying and dangerous equipment which had almost amputated my left foot, my father rushed outside for one of his pieces of two by four in order to silenced his usually quiet but obstinate daughter.  He was expecting my usual submission as he used his brutish ways to quiet me.  Instead I reached into the sink and took out the only kitchen knife which we possessed which was long and sharp.  Armed with this weapon, my eyes locked with his and as he warned me that I was not a woman and had no right to speak out in his house, he raised the piece of two by four to teach me a lesson I would never forget. 

    I was determined that he did not have the right to discipline me as he never cared for me.  I moved my hand backwards posed with equal intent to remove this disgusting creature, from in front of me. In the far distance, I could hear my mother’s plead not to put myself in trouble.  In the distance I saw the frozen faces of my siblings, stamped with disbelief.

    Daddy retreated and I put down my weapon.

    Several lives were changed that December day. My mother shed the shell of submission as Daddy came to grips with the reality that his children were all grown up and he was not a part of it. As for me, my life changed drastically.  After daddy’s temper abated he treated me with respect and I even saw glimpses of warmth in his eyes.  During the last twelve years of his life, he made several attempts to bridge the gap which was formed at my birth.  My father and had conversed on several occasions about that day; as my siblings teased me continuously about my attempt to kill my father. Strangely enough daddy told me “do not let them bother me as often in life you have to take a stand for what you believe in”.