I have lived on this earth for thirty years now and so far the number of times I have been disappointed vastly out numbers the times I have smiled I'd consider my childhood a happy one. There a lot of love directed toward me by family and friends alike. However things started to change in my life after my father passed away. Of course being only nine I was too young to begin processing such trauma and wouldn't finally have the gravity of his departure visited upon me till after my mother found love again and got married to my stepdad, about five years after grieving the loss of her first husband.
To say that things were going to change for my sister, my mom and I would be a gross understatement of what actually ended up happening. My mom has been married now to my stepdad for close to 16 years now and this marriage changed all our lives for the better and for the worst.
I usually like to repeat the mantra, "we are a culmination of our decisions we make". This has allowed my to own up to actions solely of my own decision process, and absolve myself of guilt caused by decisions/actions visited upon me by someone else.
On one hand, my mother's decision to marry my stepdad cracked the door of opportunity wide open for me, the world was and continues to be my oyster. I have stood atop the proverbial shoulders of my stepdad and made leaps and bounds in my very promising career in the Mecca of tech. My sister has soared in her career as a medical professional, participating in life-saving surgeries, a mother of two and a wife, making her nothing short of a badass. Finally my mom, who, after battling the disease trilogy of goiter, hypertension and diabetes, has made drastic lifestyle changes, quit a stressful high powered job, and now working as a clerk in the deli of a prominent grocery store. In many respects I have my stepdad to thank for this, my mom is healthier and happier.
However, as the saying goes, "there's no free lunch" and boy have the three of us had to pay in kind when the bill finally came due. The first price we collectively paid was the certan dissolution of family unity. Before and a few years after my father's death, we all congregated in the living room to say an earnest prayer to God as a family before retiring to bed. This modest but reverent act ensured that the family continually communed with the Holy Spirit through our daily activities. Not only did this act stay our hand from overt acts of sin, but it also cloaked us from any torment and closed any lingering spiritual doors which would give tempting spirits free reign in our lives.
Upon his arrival, when we invited him to join in said family tradition, it was greater with a cold aloof response. This puzzled my young little mind as I couldn't think of any reason why a man of cloth, who you'd expect to jump at the opportunity to be the spiritual leader at the helm of this family, would treat this novel act of prayer with such deference. With this one spiritual cloaking mechanism beginning to slowly come apart at the seams, so did our spiritual walk begin to fray.
My mother always went on about how my stepdad was similar to my late father in character and temperament. Unfortunately my sister and I would end up not concurring with her. For as much as I'll agree my mother spent more intimate time with my father before and after my sister and I were born, and would be something of an authority in drawing such parallels, my sister and I were old enough to remember how my father made us feel, and it wasn't the way my stepdad made and continues to make us feel.
My stepdad provided for my sister and I as religiously as he preached and a pulpit every Sunday morning, but he was rather emotionally distant. I can only speculate that a thirty year marrige ended in divorce, a restraining order from his ex, and two sons who hate your guts would do that to you. He remains eternally pessimistic and always manages to find what is wrong in life and rabidly complains about it. His soul can be likened to a black hole formed after a supernova which sucks in any joy or laughter in a room, and replaces it with a suppressed rage. He bellows passionately at the top of his voice when pointing out something wrong bad he read in a News paper article, or chuckles as he makes snide remarks with a racial undertone towards my mom or any race that isn't Caucasian.
The worst times to be around him was at the dinning table, he made my breakfasts, lunches and dinners all miserable. I always left the dinning table emotionally conflicted as a result. Yet I still held out hope that the longer he lived in my country, he would eventually conform to our apathetic but blissful way of life. In Uganda there was, and still is a general sense of complacency to try to change the status quo, due to the heavyhanded nature in which the government dictates what we can and can't say or do. As a result we as a people engage in merriment as a form of escapism. Through throwing lavish parties like graduation ceremonies, birthdays, wedding and okwanjula (a traditional form of marriage common among the Baganda). Anyone not of this culture would assume we were a financially irresponsible lot living for the weekend and all the trappings that a lavish lifestyle would have to offer. In the midst of our apathetic existence, we have managed to find solace in the cards we've been dealt, and through this we have been embued with a generosity and sense of community which keeps us happy in spite the misery that lurks in the shadows of our daily existence. This is all to say I expected my stepdad to become more cheerful and have a change in temperament and embrace a happier life style. But all this was for not when I would cry myself to sleep, praying that God would deliver me from this horrid situation I found myself in. I became more and more aware of the fact that the misery I felt at the time was because my mother, in her prerogative had decided that this monster if a mane would become my father and I was to accord him all the rights, previlages, loyalty and love requisite of a father in a family.
However this wasn't made any easier by the fact that I'm his actions or lack thereof , he felt not the need to try to impress. In any relationship where there is a mutual respect for either party, there is a constant need to seek the other's validation, particularly in taking the time to learn the things that offend the other party and make it a point to avoid (at least intentionally) doing the things that cause them grief. However, as the saying goes, "hurt people, hurt people".He didn't spare our feelings and made known his opinions in the most blunt manner possible. For a time I just assumed that's how the world worked and despised people that were of a happier and jollier disposition. It was only when I met my wife that I began to realize I had a very important choice to make. I could either gradually snuff out my wife's joy through the pessimism that my stepdad had unknowingly nurtured in me, or I could confront the source of my inner misery, stand up to it and repudiate it with every last fiber in my being. Thus creating an oasis of peace upon which I intend to build my family.
This was no easy feat as it would require me to muster up every once of energy in me to confront this giant of a man and enlighten him on my many discrepancies. I would have to table that particular conversation for another day, as my instinct for self preservation informed me that I was about to bite off more than I could chew. My resolution was to pray feverishly
