My dad worked long hours on the night shift for FedEx, but on certain Friday nights he would get off at 11 pm so that we could make the trip to my grandparents for the weekend. Instead of sleeping in my bed until he got home, I would sit in his navy-blue suede, lazy boy, recliner. Blanketed in a colorful afghan while my feet would barely touch the edge of the chair. I remember the excitement as my eyes became heavy waiting for him to come home along with a belly full of popcorn that my mom had given me hours before. Once he arrived, I would be awakened to a kiss on the cheek and a warm embrace. I was only two years old, but this is one of my first memories. It is a memory that has shaped my life in more ways than I could have imagined.
My dad had a father, but he was in and out for most of my dad’s life and was solely a man that brought a paycheck home being unfaithful to his wife while doing so. One of those men who were convenient leaders, you know, only leaders when it was convenient. And then there was my dad’s grandfather who would beat his wife night after night. Maybe a man who was physically absent was better than one who was physically abusive(?). I look at my dad who was the result of this domino effect of brokenness; on his knees every morning with his head knelt in that navy-blue recliner. He prayed to break any generational curses. He prayed for an inheritance to gain and an inheritance to leave behind. He prayed that he would be a good father. He prayed he would be different and he is. There are so many things my father has taught me in this life thus far, but I think the depth of it comes from the letter that is written below.
To continue reading, head over to my blog and know that you are so very loved.
https://www.carocaroculture.com/stories-1/2017/6/13/if1bzcr1h8jvdaxst4q98k4xvdipsb
