The Fall of my Father

My mother just called me to tell me that I should be a little easier on my father. She told me that my father has been prescribed anti-anxiety pills and that I should be a little more accommodating towards my father, a little more patient I guess. She told me how my father and my eldest sister had a fight. Apparently my sister yelled at him that I moved out because of him. After my mother told me this all I could really respond with was the fact that my sister was right; my primary reason for leaving was my father.

Growing up, my father was a tyrant. I do remember him being a kind but firm father during my early childhood, but it seems as if it had all changed at some point. One day I came to realize how selfish, cold, and hypocritical he was. When did he change? I honestly couldn't tell you. I remember going through those Highlights children's activity books for hours with him. I remember playing video games with him for hours. It all changed at some point, he became the man I came to truly hate and promised to myself never to become. He judged my friends, always blatantly criticizing them for being girls. He often complained about how lazy I was. When I was trying to sleep through the day it was because I was going through a depression spell or the sort. Of course, there was no point in discussing this with either of my parents since they didn't believe in depression. I remember I would be so afraid to even lay my head down on my bed since he would just rush in and start yelling. During those moments I would just promise to myself that I would leave someday  and never turn back.

My father was never the type that would discuss his "concerns" with us. Often he would complain to my mother or yell at us rather than speaking to us in a civil manner. He knew that his children cared for their mother, therefore when it was our mother that would speak to us, we listened. We didn't want to trouble our mother, working 16-shifts 5 days a week was enough stress. My father knew that if he wanted to get to us he would have to go through my mother. My mother loved him unconditionally. He would tell us to just be patient with, that no matter what he was our father. Often my siblings and I would just nod our heads and walk away begrudgingly.

My siblings and I have come to see our father as the enemy. My mother is the only one that works and he often tries to push my mother to take on more hours. He goes overseas often at my mother's expense and buys whatever he deems necessary. Of course, my mother would just hand over her hard earned cash with barely a protest, if at all. I saw him as a leech, but there was nothing my siblings and I could do, he had our mother's ear and heart.

In any case, it seems that he's deteriorating now. My mother seems to be concerned about his blood pressure and the fact that he has been diagnosed with anxiety that has to be medicated. Honestly, at this point, I could care less. Yes, when my mother told me all this I did feel a tinge of remorse. But the fact of the matter is, he brought this onto himself. He pushed my mother's side of the family away; they all despise him. Even his own siblings despise him. For a man to have so many enemies, enemies that are of his own blood, one cannot be blamed to assume that he is the cause. Yes, he is my father by blood, but did he live up to the role of the father I wanted and needed? No, he didn't.

Now, he's falling apart. Now, the tyrant deteriorates and holds not the power he once held. Do I pity him? Yes. Do I love him? Yes. But is he a man I am proud of to call my father? No.