A Drop of Sunshine

I believe I have always been the apple of his eye - I think still I am. It is evident in the way he treats me - the things I get away with. There is nothing I ask of him that he will not give, as long as it is within his power. He is a gentleman - never shouting, nor losing his temper. He never looks down on others, and always listens to all sides of the story. I wonder how he does it - how he manages to remain so calm and reasonable even when he is in the eye of the untamed storm. For as long as I can remember, he never laid hands on any of us. Not once. 

I feel comfortable talking with my father about anything. He never gets overly emotional and always reverts to reason albeit through patience. He doesn't hesitate to sleep over anything that troubles him. The thing that strikes me the most about my dad is his uncommon kindness. Even when he is annoyed, he remains kind - never uttering degrading words, or making condescending statements. If he doesn't have anything kind to say, he just maintains his silence, which onlookers can mistake for cowardice. 

When I contemplated how to come out to my parents, I worried about him the most. I knew how my mother would react, and I could guess to a certain degree what my father’s reaction would be, but I could not say for sure. On that night, he was seated in his favourite chair in his living room, watching the news. Days before, I hinted that I had something to tell him. So when I walked into the room, he seemed focused on the television, but managed to glance at me, a move that acknowledged my presence and signified that he was listening. 

I was scared to death. My heart was beating so fast - the fastest I ever heard it beat outside of a work-out session. But I had to speak. Looking down at my hands, I managed to utter, “Daddy, I am not sexually and emotionally attracted to men”. I felt his gaze on me, so I looked up. He had abandoned this television and was fully focused on me. “So, are you attracted to women?”, he asked in the calmest of voices. I said yes. He went back to his television. I wondered what was coming next, because for about 2 minutes, he said nothing. I was beginning to panic when he said “Take it easy, we will continue to pray”. 

Pray? About what? I wondered in my head. He understood exactly what I just said. Apparently, he was of the opinion that I was going through a phase, and that with some prayer, plenty love, and divine intervention, I would cease to be lesbian. In a bid to not say anything he might have considered offensive, I nodded in partial agreement before he disclosed that my sister had already told them that I was lesbian. 

The day my mother slapped me because I told her the marriage was over and I was never going back, I was so hurt, emotionally and physically, that I started to cry. I don’t remember which pain was worse, but crying made me feel a little better. I sent a text message to my father, narrating what had just happened, and headed straight to his office. When I got there, I took off my shades, and it was obvious that I had been crying. He asked everyone to give us some privacy. As soon as they left, I burst into more tears as he held me in comfort. 

When my mother asked me to leave the house, I seriously doubted my father was in agreement. It would have been so inconsistent with his character. I called him to confirm and he asked that I stay put. He insisted that it was more my house than it was my mother’s, and that if I left that day, it would be the last time he would have anything to do with me. He called my mother, and she insisted I leave otherwise she was going to leave. Now, my mother gets emotional like that. It has always been her nature. Most times, though, she doesn't follow through.

As I stayed locked up in my room, the door leading to my parents’ rooms had been mysteriously locked and the key taken away, leaving my mother without access to her room and her things. I knew this because she came to ask if I had locked the door and I said no. I am not sure if she really planned to move out since I was not leaving. For hours, the door was locked. I wondered what was happening, and since I could not leave my room, I could not confirm for sure. But about four hours later, the key suddenly appeared.

The more I think about that day, the more sure I am that my dad orchestrated that episode . He loves my mother, of course, that’s why he married her and stayed with her all these years. Apparently, my dad asked one of the domestic staff to lock the door and keep the key to prevent my mother from leaving the house before he got home. His strategy worked. Because she could not gain entrance into her room, she left the house for a few hours, which afforded her time to think and calm her nerves. When the door was finally opened, she lacked the strength and enthusiasm to pack her things even though I remained in the house. 

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It must have been difficult for my father. He was dealing with the fact that his daughter was lesbian, and trying to manage tensions at home that came as a result of that revelation. He probably hoped I’d marry a man, and I did, but it did not last. I know that he is going through a mourning phase, where he is facing the fact that my life is very different from what he had imagined or anticipated, but my heart is warm when I remember that he still loves me unconditionally.

I love him so much. In the midst of his internal battles, he manages to show love, and support, regardless of whether he understands what my life is like or not. I look at him and I know that, even in the midst of profound confusion, it is possible to remain compassionate.