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"Water holds memory they say"
Reminiscing about my past life, I hold some regret, but it happened, and who are we to control that? Most of us had strict parents, especially our dads; they had a way to instill fear in us without thinking of its repercussions. My mom is really jovial, and we easily got away with things when it involved her; the reverse was my dad’s. He often got upset over little flaws and would yell at you till you peed your pants. The only thing that saved him was his choice of career, which took him on tours that lasted for weeks or sometimes months, which allowed us some time to gain freedom from misbehaving and get scout-free. Still, if we misbehaved, just a phone call from him without his presence could still give you a brain reset.
The few times he spent at home were like leaving in hell. The fear he instilled in me gave me the reasons to cultivate the habit of lying just to get out of trouble; each time an issue arose, I pinned them on my younger sibling. Two incidents stuck with me till today.
My dad came home with a newly purchased refrigerator, the first time of seeing such in our lives as we were not too frequent to people’s homes, one of his rules, and then I was always curious about unnecessary things (curiosity kills the cat, they say). I went to inspect how things are done, the manuals, what to do and what not to do. I was fascinated by the stickers on them, and my instinct felt it had no value to anyone other than me, so I pulled them off. Later that evening, we were assembled by my dad. As he began his interrogation, so did my soul, him, and my body. According to him, the refrigerator had a guarantee that if it was deficient under a year of purchase, it should be returned.
I stood recalling my actions and came back to reality. When asked if I did it, I denied without hesitation, praying the truth shouldn’t be written all over my face.
What saved me was that my dad trusted his female children to be truthful to him, but he did not have much trust for the male, and I didn’t trust him not to beat me for my actions, so I lied. He blamed my immediate brother; all his pleasure that he wasn’t guilty fell on my dad’s deaf ears. He was beaten mercilessly that night, one for being a liar and the second for the stickers. Till today, I cannot forgive myself for doing that to him, even though he may not remember the incident.
As we grew older, I got over the habit by developing thick skin. I was ready to face whatever the punishment may be. Instead of letting others take the blame, I became more outspoken and defended myself if need be or stood silent. Recollecting the events back then, I feel my dad just wanted to correct us to be better people for society, but his ways were too harsh. I am thankful for his life; at least we grew to know he was not really as bad as we thought.
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