When we were kids there was a few things you absolutely knew about my dad after talking to him for 5 minutes (or growing up in his house for 12 years). He doesn't play games. He doesn't say things twice. He goes from 0 to 100 quick. He cares about everything he owns. And on top of that list of things he owns that he cares about is his car. I remember spending weekends watching him clean the little AC vents with a toothbrush because just wiping the doors and hood with river water was for average people.
And then this one Sunday they come to wake me up talking about I need to go wash the car. I'm still in a stupor coz I was up watching that midnight movie last night against intructions. And in my lucid dream I could feel the rain falling. Sounds like water to me, so I told the people to leave me alone - the rain has already cleaned the car. Fast forward 17 minutes, all of us are heading to church, and then my father starts with me.
"Colin, you are actually in this car?" I'm on some of course I am I have earned the right to be a member of this family by being obedient and giving up all my freedom and getting good grades at school and all the things people that don't have their own children think they're doing their parents a favor by doing. "You know I heard you being woken up to come and clean the car and I heard your response." Shucks! "Colin. I am very disappointed in you. Next time something like that happens, you will never step into this car."
He wasn't yelling, or hyperventilating or banging his fists against the wheel like he usually would be when he's livid. He was just cool, changing gears and indicating left and right between pronouncing curses on my life. Every rebellious bone in my body was screaming who does he think he is and let me out right now it's not like we've had a car all my life and I was living just fine. But in the real world, silence. I wasn't even waiting for the other shoe to drop, coz usually admonitions like that would quickly be followed by a couple of slaps. But I knew they weren't coming. Everything he wanted to say had already been said.
I was almost never beaten as a child. They spoke to me like that. And somewhere deep down inside they always struck a chord. I listened because I was scared to death of not having my parents around, and I felt like they might leave or send me away. As I got older obviously our relationship changed and we all started talking to each other instead of them speaking and me listening. But never on the same level with my dad. He was made differently - only one person can be in charge. And that person can't not be him. And everyone around must know. It used to kill me having to shut up and listen all the time.
Now it kills me not being able to listen at all. There's not a lot of times that I talked back, but there are. And I think of all those times and ask myself when I stopped being afraid my parents would go away. Because he finally did. It wasn't because I stopped listening, but it still broke my heart all the same. I always thought those days that the worst thing that would happen to us was we wouldn't be able to get food to eat when my dad left. I have food now, but it turns out that's not all I needed him for.
I needed him to take care of all the things that I couldn't. I needed him to be strong when I couldn't be. I needed him to be the bridge between today and tomorrow every time I thought the world was ending. I've spent two years not knowing where to turn, and I've learned to numb the pain. But every so often something happens and that night in October comes crashing back into my mind.
Today, it was a song.
END
