Dear Father

When Are You (Coming 8x10)
Lois Babb
Buy When Are You Coming

Dear Father,
Why did you put us all through what you did? I don’t think for a moment you realize do you? My childhood has bitter sweet memories. If it were not for your parents who lived just 3 doors away, I think I would have gone completely off the rails. They were the rock, my brother and I clung to in times of rough waters.
It’s strange that the memories I have of you are painful ones. We’d watch you, my Mother, brother and I, as you got ready to go for a night out. In some ways it was a relief when you left the house, we could view what we wanted to on the television. Sometimes, the three of us would sneak out to visit my maternal grandparents who lived about 20 minutes away. But if you ever got home before us, there would be relentless questioning. My Mother, would tell you we had been to the cinema, but then you’d want the exact details of the film, and would try to catch us out. I can’t imagine my husband keeping me away from my Mother.
One day, my Mother found a black and white photo in your pocket, of a young woman in a mini skirt, and an earring in the back of the car. She made me walk for miles with her to find out where the girl lived. In the photograph, she was standing outside a council house, but we didn’t find her that day. Another day, we tried a large housing estate on the other side of town, and by some strange co-incidence, the first house she knocked on knew who the girl was. We were invited in and the whole tale of your infidelity unfolded. I hated you then. When I got home, I put a huge lump of butter in your cup of tea, when you weren’t looking.
A couple of weeks later I was getting ready for school one morning, so it must have been early. There was a knock at the door. A middle-aged woman was standing there with a big, hooked nose. She reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz. She spoke to my Mother whilst I was present. It was all about how you had got her daughter pregnant, and tried to get rid of the baby by buying some stuff called Quinine from the chemist. Then you had frightened her, by dangling her over the Blue Pool. The woman’s daughter, I discovered was only 17. When the Wicked Witch left she gave me a silver half crown, quite a lot of money for an 8 year old in 1969.
But the infidelities weren’t the worse part. Oh no, you would come home with the smell of beer on you. To this day I hate to smell a drunk. Then you’d become abusive and sarcastic. I would leave the room and read Enid Blyton books in my bedroom. They were my escape to another world, where children lived in middle-class homes with jolly, decent Mummies and Daddies.
One time, you took my Mother for an evening out, which was a rarity. When you came home you hit her. I found out later the reason you done it was because a man had asked her to dance. I was 11 years old at the time, I can still hear those cries. I got in bed with my brother, the palms of my hands were sweating. What should we do? We decided that I should get help. I ran out the back door in my nightdress to wake my Grandfather. He came back to the house with me. I was screaming hysterically. What did you tell him? "Lynette is just dramatizing!" But my Grandfather knew differently, from the times my Mother left nursing two black eyes and wearing sunglasses in the middle of winter. The strange thing is I never used to tell anyone, none of my friends knew. It was our shameful secret.
Over the next few years my Mother left you time and time again. She didn’t always take us with her, sometimes she did, but then I was made to go back home by other family members. That was difficult, as I was afraid of you. You used to do strange things to me, like whispering in my ear, only to suddenly shout loudly so that my eardrums vibrated, or your other trick was to hold me down on the floor with a cushion over my head. That frightened me the most, I think that is why I’m claustrophobic today.
It was how you got your kicks, a power over women thing. You never did it to my brother.
My Mother finally left you after 20 years of marriage and filed for divorce. But even then you didn’t leave us alone. There were threats of shootings (you had a stack of rifles.) You smashed the windows in my Grandparents house with a brick, when we were staying there. I forget the number of times over the years the Police were called in. Even today I get nervous to see a Policeman in uniform, and I’m married to one!
So forgive me if I don’t invite you down for any family occasions to my home. I did feel sorry for you one Christmas, and you said you’d come visit me. I wrapped a present and put it under the tree. It was still there in January. You never showed up. So why should that surprise me? You never were there for me in any Fatherly sense at all.
No, I don’t hate you. I pity you for the sorry, lonely life you have today, where your only friends are the betting shop and pub.
Your daughter,
Lynette.

Lynette lives in South Wales with her husband and 2 children. She is a qualified counselor and also writes articles and short stories for the Web. Some of her work can be found at: http://www.suite101.com/welcome.cfm/introduction_counselling http://www.aribella.com/secondbest.htm
Please send any comments on this piece to: Survivor Haven

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