Read In My Twenties :: Father

Four years old, tears run down my face as I hug my dad. Our flight is announced on the intercom. “Come on girls, we have to go.” I say goodbye to my dad that day forever.

“Mommy! Mommy!” I scream while I run down the stairs to our backyard.

“What is it? Why are you crying?”

“It’s dad!”

“What happened?!”

“I had a dream. I dreamt that dad wasn’t coming home!” I sob, “I dreamt that he was staying in Dominican Republic forever!”

She shook her head, “You’re wrong. He’s coming, don’t worry.”

Odd. Once I heard those words, I became calm. Not because she had comforted me, but because I knew that he was not coming back to us. I took a deep breath and swallowed, “Ok.”

I walked upstairs to my room, no words, just shock. I knew my mom lied to protect me, but I felt empty towards my father now. I threw everything I knew of him away. He no longer existed in my life, I only had a mother and a grandmother. A mother who would later throw all her frustrations towards my sisters and me.

While we were born in America, my mother took us back to Dominican Republic as soon as each of us were born. However, circumstances led us to move back to America without my dad. At first, things were ok. The first year was great. My dad would call every day and send money often. My mom had a job and would take care of everything we needed, she cared for us a lot. But as time passed, things changed.

The phone rings. “Hello?” My mom picks up. It’s my dad calling to see how we are. They have a good conversation at first, but it slowly becomes aggressive.

“What do you mean you can’t send money again?” My dad has been falling short for some time now. “Find some way to send me the money, I need it.” My mom hangs up. The next day my mom receives nothing. She calls my dad and has a big fight, not remembering that we can hear. Not remembering how damaging it is to witness your parents fight at such a young age.

Time keeps passing. I’m six and my dad has now stopped sending money. Every time my mom gets my dad on the phone, it’s an argument. They can no longer talk without being aggressive with each other. Where has the love gone? My mom cries every time they talk. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t see my mom cry. Things are getting worse.

I’m now twelve and we finally get to go visit our dad.

“Go to the store! She’s burning!” My mom screams as I lay in bed.

“NO! I don’t want to go buy medicine for her; she won’t die!” Responds my dad.

“Ugh. Please stop yelling,” I sob, “Please.”

“You sure are a good for nothing!” Fury burns through my mom’s veins. “Don’t bother to do a single thing. I see what kind of father you are now.”

She picks up the phone and calls a family friend to take me to a doctor. The doctor says I have a bacterial infection due to eating contaminated fruit. The bacteria attached to my throat and could’ve gotten bad if I hadn’t gone to the doctor in time. I went home safely that day thanks to a family friend, not my dad, but a family friend. This trip was supposed to be the best. We finally got to see our dad for the first time in eight years, but he showed no signs of caring.

Why did I end up with such parents? I don’t know…maybe circumstance made them this way.

“You what?! How could you?!” Yells my mom.

Great. Another argument.

“What’s going on?” I say unenthusiastically.

“Say it. Tell her what you did. No, actually, go call your sisters. Go, call them in.”

I call my sisters in. We’re looking at each other, tired of the same arguments. But this time it was different. It changed our relationship with our dad for a very long time.

My dad hesitates, “I cheated on your mom. I have two daughters.”

Shocked, we don’t say anything, just stare with wide eyes.

“No. You don’t have two daughters. You have one you know is yours and the other is probably from that woman whoring around!”

“Don’t say that! She’s my daughter, I know she is!”

Later it turns out that the first daughter is his and is a year younger than me. This means that he was with another woman soon after I was born. How could he be so dirty and irresponsible? The other, you guessed it, was the result of that woman whoring herself. How could he be with such a person when he had his own family? We hadn’t even moved to America yet and he was already looking elsewhere. How could he do this to us? We’re supposed to be his family! He’s supposed to care for us! But I guess now I know that no one is going to care for anyone else, nor are they “supposed” to; at least not a man like that.

We storm out of the room back to our own, “How could he do that?!” Exclaims my sister.

“I don’t know but he isn’t my dad anymore, I can’t consider him that way. How could he do that when we were waiting for him all this time?” Cries the other.

I say nothing. How could I? I knew him the least and even I feel a little hurt by this. We leave Dominican Republic feeling worn out and drained. We came to this country as a whole family and left as a broken one. Ever since we found out, we couldn’t have a good relationship with our dad. It just doesn’t seem right.

My mom looks both ways. No cars coming, good. The light was red and the crosswalk light had changed for her. She steps onto the street and suddenly a car comes flying down. With no time to react, the car hits her and continues driving, never to be seen again.

The accident ruined her back and she was forced to go on disability. Now with no money coming in from our dad and no money from a job, we were left to live on the small disability paycheck my mom got every month. Those days were the worst. We had days where we would starve because we had no money to buy food. And even with the struggles we were going through my dad didn’t bother to send even a little bit of money. It was only when my sisters finally found jobs that we were able to get some income. But it was not enough. Thinking back to it, I think we moved that year to leave behind the bad taste in our mouths. Because life was becoming so hard and the abandonment of our dad hit us tenfold. I think we all became bitter about those events in our lives.

Fast forward to the present day and it seems that after many divorce threats my mom finally got to my dad. He started visiting for a month every year since I was in high school. It’s very weird. I don’t like it and I still can’t forgive his abandonment, his cheating. Now he tries to incorporate his daughter into our lives, but I don’t care about her and don’t want another sister, especially not one from such an affair. He calls frequently, but every time I talk to him he asks me the same question five times, “What are you doing?”.

Maybe I’m messed up for feeling this way, but it’s something that’s going to keep burning within me, no matter how much I try to work through it. I have no dad.