Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Day Six: Something You Hope You Never Have To Do

"The love between a father and daughter is forever." - Anonymous

Awhile ago, I came across this heartfelt post on Sunny's blog where she spoke of having suffered sexual abuse once upon a time. Before reaching its conclusion and as a father of three daughters, I wondered what if some dead man walking did such a horrible thing to them? 

Earth, all 3,959 miles of it, wouldn't be big enough for him to hide. Not even the United States military could save him. 

Then I thought about my mother, sister and the two women who birthed my children, and how all four are victims of rape, or near rape, at some point in their respective lives. My sister, at age 9, was physically forced to have sexual intercourse by the good-for-nothing boyfriend of our aunt. Even worse, she - desperate for a man, did not believe my sister's nightmarish story. In fact, it was completely swept under the rug. One of those family secrets never to be discussed. 

Two years younger than my sister and nowhere near mature enough to comprehend what had occurred, I was unaffected by it all. Several years passed before I gained a better understanding. By this time, my sister and I learned the negro had passed away. We were not sorry to hear. She joked tearfully about how our deceased dad was somewhere looking for him in the afterlife in order to beat him up.

Knowing dad, and how much he loved my sister, he found him.

Fathers and daughters share a special bond. Daughters are the women that we cannot help but love. Daughters warm their way into our hearts. A father is always making his baby into a little woman. Once she becomes a woman, he turns her back into a little girl again. A daughter loves her father the most because he is at least one man in the world who will never break her heart. At the end of the day, the role of a dad is to physically and emotionally protect his little girl. 

To believe otherwise would be foolish.  

I say this while recalling how my oldest daughter stood in her 7th grade class and spoke of how I am the first man she fell in love with, and countless phone calls where the mom of my two youngest complained about our kids crying, due to wanting their daddy. 

Fond memories such as these are embedded in my heart and will be at the forefront of my rage, if ever the day comes where some unfortunate soul decides to commit suicide by sexually abusing one of mine. And I said that to say this: I could not live in this world knowing that he's still breathing. One of us gotta die. 

Something I hope to never do?

Bury him.