I Had Become My Dad
My girlfriend was five foot three and weighed 103 pounds. While driving home from a church dance in Fallon, we got into an argument; my emotions were boiling over. In the moment of highest passion, I slapped her across the face. She handed me the ring I gave her. The car went dead silent for the rest of the drive home. I didn’t feel sorry. I didn’t feel humiliated. I didn’t feel remorse. I didn’t feel. The next day at church, I asked her to take me back. Her right eye was bloodshot. The right side of her mouth was swollen. She didn’t tell her parents. I begged her forgiveness; I promised I’d never do it again. Sound familiar? She was firm in her resolve to never date me again. But I wore her down, and in a few minutes she put my ring back on her finger. I treated her better for a short time and then I was mean again.
Author’s note: The patterns of our fathers can be repeated and passed on from generation to generation, unless there is a stopper placed in the family to change direction so the dysfunction stops with them. I hope I have been a stop sign in my family so that my posterity doesn’t suffer the sins of past generations.
Cursed is the man who dies, but evil done by him survives. Abu Bakr