This past fathers' day, a message from President Obama about his own father in his life, or the lack of him in his life, got me thinking about mine and the lack of his presence in my life. Unlike the president, I was lucky enough to have a father in the same house as I grew up for the most part. However, my father had a companion: drinking. And he was loyal to it. And the dozens of "friends" who actually hung around him for free beer, whiskey or even arak (when times were tough and cheap booze was the way to go).
Those days, my parents were separated and I was living with my dad because there were better schools where he lived, compared to the small town where my mother lived and worked. So after a few years of living with her, I moved in with him and my brother.
Alcohol was all around us. Dad was a charitable man those days and he invited people over and they never left. (Yes, you can check in but never check out). My brother and I shared a bedroom with a grown cousin, who had made the room his own and we were treated as guests. He drank religiously everyday. One night when we were alone, he showed me his penis and asked me to touch him. I ran away in fear. He also introduced me to the taste of my first beer when I was 8.
Dad was oblivious. He loved us to death. But he was also never there unless he was checking about my grades in school. And I always performed poorly in school so I tried to stay out of his radar out of fear of being checked about how I was doing in school. I forged marks cards when I could. And I got away with it.
Apart from our cousin, 3 other men lived in our little house but it was a revolving door with lots more coming in and out. Random people that our dad had picked up and had made as friends. They were alcohol buddies but they also lived with us, ate free food, drank free booze and generally made themselves comfortable. When I got my first period, everyone in the house knew about it. My mother was the last to know because she was living in a different town.
We also had a cook. He was a poor young man named Basaviah, my dad had brought over based on a family friend's recommendation. My dad taught him how to cook and made him the cook and a general attendant. While my dad cooked marvelously, unfortunately, Basavaih's cooking was terrible. But what he lacked in cooking skills, he made up for in having a large heart. He was the kindest and gentlest person my brother and I had ever met. We loved him. He was our rock. He was also one of the few men in the house who did not make his moves on me. Yes, those days, I was just developing breasts but I was still a child who didn't care to sit with her legs closed. While the other men made lewd comments about it more than once, Basavaiah always treated me as a child. And he kept his distance.
Out of all the strange men in the house, there was one I hated the most. His name was Chandrashekar. He was someone who randomly entered out house (during an election season when my dad gave our house to be used for political campaigns) and never left. It was also a time when my dad had an accident and had damaged his leg. This man took care of my dad and in turn became his wing man. He had access to our dad that we didn't have. And he fully enjoyed having that power over us. Yes a grown man was competing with us for our dad's attention and he won.
He would try and find me alone in a room and touch me or make lewd remarks when I was sitting. I knew he was bad news for me. These were the days when our dad was in the hospital and he was running the show in our house. He would go to the hospital every night and spend time with our dad. One day he asked my brother to go so he can take a break. My brother was more than willing. He appreciated that this man was helping our dad. Besides it gave my brother a chance to get close to my dad, a man whose attention and approval my brother craved.
But my 12 year old instincts told me that it would be bad news if this man and I were alone in the house while my brother was away. I knew I would get raped that night if I were left alone with him. I made my brother stay back. He reluctantly did. Years later, my brother appreciated the horrible scenario it could have been. I thank my lucky stars that night.
Those days, my parents were separated and I was living with my dad because there were better schools where he lived, compared to the small town where my mother lived and worked. So after a few years of living with her, I moved in with him and my brother.
Alcohol was all around us. Dad was a charitable man those days and he invited people over and they never left. (Yes, you can check in but never check out). My brother and I shared a bedroom with a grown cousin, who had made the room his own and we were treated as guests. He drank religiously everyday. One night when we were alone, he showed me his penis and asked me to touch him. I ran away in fear. He also introduced me to the taste of my first beer when I was 8.
Dad was oblivious. He loved us to death. But he was also never there unless he was checking about my grades in school. And I always performed poorly in school so I tried to stay out of his radar out of fear of being checked about how I was doing in school. I forged marks cards when I could. And I got away with it.
Apart from our cousin, 3 other men lived in our little house but it was a revolving door with lots more coming in and out. Random people that our dad had picked up and had made as friends. They were alcohol buddies but they also lived with us, ate free food, drank free booze and generally made themselves comfortable. When I got my first period, everyone in the house knew about it. My mother was the last to know because she was living in a different town.
We also had a cook. He was a poor young man named Basaviah, my dad had brought over based on a family friend's recommendation. My dad taught him how to cook and made him the cook and a general attendant. While my dad cooked marvelously, unfortunately, Basavaih's cooking was terrible. But what he lacked in cooking skills, he made up for in having a large heart. He was the kindest and gentlest person my brother and I had ever met. We loved him. He was our rock. He was also one of the few men in the house who did not make his moves on me. Yes, those days, I was just developing breasts but I was still a child who didn't care to sit with her legs closed. While the other men made lewd comments about it more than once, Basavaiah always treated me as a child. And he kept his distance.
Out of all the strange men in the house, there was one I hated the most. His name was Chandrashekar. He was someone who randomly entered out house (during an election season when my dad gave our house to be used for political campaigns) and never left. It was also a time when my dad had an accident and had damaged his leg. This man took care of my dad and in turn became his wing man. He had access to our dad that we didn't have. And he fully enjoyed having that power over us. Yes a grown man was competing with us for our dad's attention and he won.
He would try and find me alone in a room and touch me or make lewd remarks when I was sitting. I knew he was bad news for me. These were the days when our dad was in the hospital and he was running the show in our house. He would go to the hospital every night and spend time with our dad. One day he asked my brother to go so he can take a break. My brother was more than willing. He appreciated that this man was helping our dad. Besides it gave my brother a chance to get close to my dad, a man whose attention and approval my brother craved.
But my 12 year old instincts told me that it would be bad news if this man and I were alone in the house while my brother was away. I knew I would get raped that night if I were left alone with him. I made my brother stay back. He reluctantly did. Years later, my brother appreciated the horrible scenario it could have been. I thank my lucky stars that night.
