The problem comes when a child doesn’t know how to say no to a parent. Until then, a lifetime of training had shown me how to always say yes to my father. I learned at a young age that my father was not interested in the truth. He was only interested in what he wanted to hear.
“How’s my girl?”
“Fine.”
“Then, let’s see a smile.”
Smiling on command always galled me. Adults frequently seemed to press that point. When I gave in, they never seemed to notice my frozen look. Slightly upturned lips was what they wanted. My father was no exception. He was satisfied with the mere appearance of happiness.
* * * * * * *
(1987)
(1987)
(I, THE AUTHOR, WOULD JUST LIKE TO TELL YOU, THE READER…Yes?… THAT I ABSOLUTELY HATE GOING INTO THIS. Sometimes, I wonder if you have any guts at all. I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW THAT OF ALL THE PARTS THAT HAVE BOTHERED ME WITH THIS STORY, WE ARE GETTING TO THE WORST. Why don’t you just quit then? I WOULD EXCEPT FOR ONE THING. Yes? IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO DO JUSTICE TO MY ANGER. Would you like to say that just a little louder? IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO DO JUSTICE TO MY ANGER! Carry on then. I don’t know why you doddle so.)
* * * * * * *
(1972)
Sasifraz exacts a mighty toll for suppressed anger. He can press on Alfer Centurie. He can press on Lucifer. He can press on me. But when anyone, anyone at all, feels the press of Sasifraz, they must act in one form or another.
Sasifraz exacts a mighty toll for suppressed anger. He can press on Alfer Centurie. He can press on Lucifer. He can press on me. But when anyone, anyone at all, feels the press of Sasifraz, they must act in one form or another.
To live with my father, day after day, night after night, and not tell him of my anger and pretend that the sun shown in just the same way as it always had was my final undoing. Straight A’s not withstanding, at the very least, I had a burning desire to tell him what was going on with me—not the good stuff, not the fun stuff, but the stuff that makes someone cut their arm on a regular basis. But he was not the one to tell. Between us, there were no words. There was no expression. He wanted me to just be okay. I tried valiantly to make it so.
I was voted April girl of the month. Boy, was he proud. I got good grades. I played the guitar and wrote songs. I did everything I was supposed to do. It made everyone around me feel good, but Sasifraz still haunted me by pushing and pressing, demanding attention that I knew only one way to address.