Dear Dad, Thank you

Human beings undergo experiences every day that help shape them into who they are. Some may be pleasant, while others are not. My experiences however, were not enjoyable in the slightest. Something that deeply affected my life is my relationship with my father. 

Growing up in New York made it difficult for me to have a normal childhood. My father was a gang member with certain morals and tendencies that he was forced to live by. After I was born, he tried making changes to his lifestyle by leaving the gang he was in and getting a regular job as a means of taking care of my mother and I. One would think this change would be a good thing but where there is good, there is always evil. As an infant I did not notice any of the red flags or understand that he was a bad man, but as time went on I became aware of the person he actually was.

At the age of six, the sweet and lovable man who I once called my father turned into a monster. I began to notice his change in demeanor because he was always angry. As life went on, that anger grew and he began to do horrible things. I wasn’t sure what I had done but he started to hate me and he took all of that rage out on me. He began to mentally and physically abuse me. He beat me, called me names, hated me for being bisexual, and even threatened my life numerous times. I was six, only six, and I started being treated like I was a prisoner. Locked up within my own home by one of the two people that created me.

Throughout all of it,  my mother was not helpful to me. She always said she cared but I believed otherwise because she always defended him and took his side. I often wonder why she defended him but I know I won’t ever know for sure. She tried to excuse his actions by always saying he suffered from mental illnesses such as bipolar disorder, depression, and suffered from anger issues. She tried to use his terrible childhood experiences to justify his actions but I never believed this to be the whole truth. As a parent you should use your childhood experiences as a basis of how to prevent your children from suffering similar hardships. Deep down, I knew she cared in her own way because she prevented him from harming me, allowing me to tell my story.

Being treated like this at a very young age caused me to build barriers. I built walls that were used to protect my heart from anyone’s words or negativity. These walls couldn’t protect me from any physical harm but they help mentally push away the pain. Even though I forced myself to not feel emotions, his actions still hurt me. He was my father and there was not much I could do so I just sucked it all up. Time went on and more wounds had formed. However, when I became eighteen, everything changed.

On Sunday, April 12, 2020, the relationship between my father and I took a very interesting turn. We were at an Easter gathering when he tried to humiliate me and hit me in front of all of the guests. Something in me just snapped. I turned around and simply started swinging at him. I have no idea what came over me but in that moment I felt nothing but anger, sadness, and satisfaction. After the altercation had ended, I stood in the corner of the dining room with tears running down my face while he had blood oozing from one of his eyes. He may be my father, but I felt that was my greatest achievement in life other than graduating high school and going to college. 

At a very young age, my grandfather taught me that violence was never the answer unless it was one hundred percent necessary and in this case, it was. I finally stood up for myself and not only showed him but all the guests that I am my own person and no longer a kid. From that point on, he no longer put his hands on me. He still had outbursts of anger and tried to make me feel bad about myself with his hateful words but I did not let it get to me. That fight was a wakeup call for him and now he knows that I am not some child that he can simply run over. 

Although I still do not understand his hatred for me because he told his therapist that his only reason to live was my baby sister, I believe that throughout my life I have done everything that a good parent would want their child to do. All of the trauma, agony, sadness, and anger helped me become stronger, to stand up for myself and evolve into the person that I am today. And for that, I thank him.

About the Author

Shaleke Jackson is a nineteen year old Black and Puerto Rican student from Whitehall, Pennsylvania. He graduated from Whitehall High School and is majoring in Political Science with the Pre-Law track. Shaleke is a student ambassador and he is also president of Arcadia’s co-ed a cappella group, the Scarlet Letters.