A Father's love... Sometimes I just sit back and become emotionally torn. I am truly grateful for my life thus far, but I always wonder whether it would have been different had my father been around longer and actually raised me. A part of me is hurt and broken and torn because of the decisions he made. Another part is understanding and loving and thankful for the days that we did have. Here, I will get a little personal into my life.
My father, Victor aka Siah, was born in Trinidad. He came to America at a young age. I believe that he was in his teens. Unfortunately, he was not a US citizen. That will all make sense at the end. At some point, he saw my Momma and was like "ooh, hey, I need to make you my lady" and my mom was all like "mmm, yassss! let's do it" or whateva... Obviously that's how it went down, okay! So they had my brother and I. My older sister (photographed above) was obviously in the picture before my brother and I were born, but not from my mother. So anyhow, I never really knew my fathers story. I guess now that I am older, the next time that I DO visit him in Trinidad I will certainly find out. So that story is to be continued. But, what I do know is that my father was heavy in selling drugs. I don't know if it was just marijuana, but it was enough to get him into big trouble.
Honestly, a lot of my younger years are still a blur for me because I believe that I endured so much pain from the absence of my father that I pre-meditate forgetting things, whether good or bad, on purpose. If that makes sense, if not I hope you catch my drift anyway. I was approximately 6-7 years old when my father was arrested. Now let me add that he had been arrested before, not many times, but he has. Side note, I also believe that I have blurred memories from my past because apparently when I was much younger and my dad was into slinging dope, (sorry I just really wanted to say that because I've never used that phrase in my life), people were always after him. My mother shared a story with my brother and I the other day about someone, or several people, trying to rob our home. Foolishly, my father opened the door and they tried to barge in and had a gun, according to my mother (who by the way jumped out of the window so that she can search for help...uh....HELLO MA, Yes, take your children with you !!! lol.. we joked so much about that on the day she shared it with my brother and I ). But anyway, as my mother went to search for help, the robber apparently grabbed me. So, my father and the robber had both my arms in each of their hands fighting for me. Now, every female at least once in her life has been charmed with the idea of two men fighting over her, but no no honey. Not in this way ! It appears that my father won that fight (go daddy...Saphia, that is nothing to cheer about). The fact that I do not remember that day, I had to be between 4 and 5 years old, just frightens me. I often wonder about why I can't remember things and I don't believe I had a crazy childhood or anything, but several things traumatized me without me even really knowing.
Back to the story of my father. So, he was arrested and locked up for what I believe was 7 or 8 years. For the most part, my mother took us up to visit him every weekend or so. Unfortunately he was contained in Fishkills, New York, which was about a 2 hour drive. I can't blame my mother. She was a little bitter and angry towards him at times when we went to visit him because of all that she been through and what she had to deal with and now she was visiting him in prison with her two children. At that time, I couldn't understand why this woman, my mother, was so upset all of the times we were there. Now, I get it. After his years spent in prison he was deported back to Trinidad.
A Fathers love. Imagine receiving love from your father through letters, photos and prison visits. I am a writer. I love to write, so I enjoyed writing letters to him and receiving. My father also is/was a writer so it was pretty great that we had that bond. We even made up codes like 143, which is a universal code and my original 664 which stands for Daddy's Little Girl. For many years growing up, I always would tell my mother that I am a Daddy's girl. I could only imagine how she felt knowing that she was physically playing the role of both, yet, I was only giving much credit to the person who was not there. I still loved my father greatly. But, it was never enough. I didn't receive that masculine, protective love that I needed. Yes, I had my older brother, but we often had sibling rivalry so I still needed that "unconditional love". I explored the world and thought I found the love of my love. Throughout my teenage years, whether it was from my boyfriend(s) or just guys that I thought would be in my life forever, I constantly found myself seeking my fathers love within them. Some of them had no idea how to love me. Why was I doing this ? Why couldn't I just accept the fact that my Dad left us, involuntarily but voluntarily because he knew what he was doing. With all that, I learned to value myself more than ever because not a single soul on this living earth would be able to love me enough if I don't love myself. I was searching for my Fathers love and forgot about Self love. Man, if only I knew that when I was younger. Then again, lessons are meant to be learned and applied. I am satisfied with having to deal with all that I encountered at a young age because now that I am older, I know what I deserve and what I want. That testimony may come one day.
As for my future, my younger siblings and my (god willing) future children, I pray that The Lord blesses me with a different life for them. A Father's love is not guaranteed but it is needed. Of course, you have your relationship with God and that is most important. Frankly, I would not want my little girl, or sons, to feel as if they have to search for their fathers love in another man. It is just a terrible feeling, I can certainly vouch for that. Lord, thank you. You, my Father have carried me a LONG, LONG, LONG way. Let's just save my future children the pain and make sure that if I do have kids, God you ought'a make him a great father!
I came across this photo that was at my Fathers house in Trinidad.
(My big brother and my Father.... Circa...I'm not even sure)
When I saw this photo again,
I laughed but then suddenly
I became sad
Isn't it ironic how we no longer
in the physical sense
have our dad
how one moment its joyful
everything seems easy
our smiles turn suddenly
as we later wonder
why did he leave me
we were too young to understand
so we continued to grow
personally as I grew older
I still wanted to know
why did you leave me
us, why did you go?