Me Mascuiline, All Powerful

My struggle with the mascuiline ideal and the path forward

I grew up watching my dad be the man of the house. He was the one who dropped us at school and at exactly the time when it was supposed to, he picked us back up. He was the one who made sure all of my tuition fees were paid up. He was the one who fed me at times when mom wasn’t around. He was the one who got me the toy I wanted from the shop nearby. And in between all that, there were of course instances of him letting me know he was the top dog and I was to follow his wisdom and never be out of line. Sometimes, when he was mad at me, he stopped looking towards me. and sometimes, when the anger flared up, I got some red marks on my back to absorb his anger. I must have done something wrong and of course, he knows better. There were times when the mask slipped up. He had taken me to fill up water bottles at the local filter water plant, and there we were loading up the water gallons and he got a call that grand pa had passed away and for a split second, there were tears I saw in his eyes. He was very quick to clean them off his face as if they were sinful almost. The ride home was a quiet one and all the while I was sitting with his back to me, on that motor back, yearning for him to tell me what he was feeling? or to ask me what I was feeling? Why did he cry? I didn’t cry. It took me a time to realize that dada abu was gone and that is when I was able to cry.

He always got me all the geometry supplies from the shop whenever I had an exam and he got me what I needed for school. and in between that there were beatings. whenever I will challange his status as the patriarch. I remember him never crying and never asking me before the exam what he was feeling? I was once being sexually assaulted in the bedroom by my teacher, and he walked in and my teacher straighten up and so did I and all I had running through my body was “Fear”. I knew what was happening was wrong but, I didn’t want him to find out. Of course, I was being assaulted because I had to be bad and letting him see that bad is just terrifying in my own mind.

My dad taught me a lot about what it meant to be a man. He never admitted a mistake. I have never seen my dad say oh shit! I made a mistake. The amount of stress he must feel to be that perfect ideal. My dad never admitted any weakness ever in his life in front of me. He epitomizes strength to me and I learned that was what strength was. Strength was never letting anybody know you were weak. I will later walk into rooms with men of bigger stature and terrified of the shame that will wash over me as if there is a hunter who is gonna find out who I really am? That I don’t have money? That I don’t have freedom. I remember my dad when he would drop me off at tuition, rest of the kids always came/went by themselves when they had grown older in high school, by my dad was there everyday. I felt watched, controlled and that he didn’t trust me. There was nothing I could do, no whim I could follow. I could only follow him. Years later now, I feel guilt washing over me when I think like this because I am to recognize this as sacrifices. I feel guilt that I feel like this and when some kids had it worse.

I don’t know what kind of dad I would be but I know the things that I want to take from my dad and the things I don’t want to and also unlearn those things for myself.

I will take his responsiblity.

I will not take his anger.

I will not take his perfectionism.

I will not take his shame.

I will not take his idea of a dad.

I will love my son. I won’t be threatened by him if he is stepping outside the patriarchal boundry. I will never hit him. I will love my daughter too and I will make sure that my kids see me as my rock. When I come home, they run to me and never be afraid that I am home. I will make sure that when they have a hard moment, I will be there maybe sometime talking to them, and sometimes just there holding their hand that you are not alone. I will make sure they grow up believing that they are worthy of love and are enough. and mistakes are okay. Mistakes is how we grow.