I TOO WAS ABUSED

Dad's quiet and distinct footsteps as he approached the door jolted us out of our momentary madness. Matt and I knew to be in our best behavior now. I had taken a quick scan of the entire room to be sure that nothing was out of place. Thankfully enough, the electricity supply had tripped off only some brief minutes ago, interrupting our five hours stay behind the giant SONY TV. You didn't want to be caught watching the TV when dad was around.

"Welcome daddy", we chorused subserviently, my heartbeat going back and forth in a frenzied mood.

My dad merely nodded.

"Matt, get me a cup of chilled water. Quick!", he ordered, his voice raised slightly.

He threw himself on the green leather sofa and unbuttoned his sleeveless blue shirt. A snaky trail of sweat strolled down his furrowed brow.

I sat down, patiently waiting for the three-five minutes exit time-as we called it- to elapse before I disappeared from the room and away from dad's presence. Thoughts of how I'd tell dad about the Algebra textbook which my school teacher made compulsory for us to buy crept through my mind.

I waited calmly as he took quick swigs from the bottle. He belched loud and turned the cap back on.

" Dad?" I called out softly, my heartbeat almost tripling.

He turned. His face wore an expressionless, blank look.

"Mr. Morris wants us to get a new Algebra textbook. He says we can't attend his classes unless we have the book. Book is sold at €6.3."

I stopped, frightened and embarrassed. Dad said nothing. I was used to him never saying a thing when demands are made on him. I began to fiddle my fingers, anxiously waiting to hear what he'd say next.

"Go ask your mom!" He shouted, waving me off. "I don't think I have got that amount of money to spare".

I was aloof. Since then, I never ever ventured to ask my dad for anything, no matter how small.

I grew up in a family where my father was a hard man. He was harsh and bitter and lived with a little less joy and peace. My father lived in his own world. It seemed to me that despite the fact that we lived in the same house, we were total strangers. My dad knew very little about us, never cared to know. At home, he spoke less. Many times when he spoke, his voice sounded somewhat angry and we never knew what it meant to have a normal father-son talk.

You only spoke when spoken to, and you had better speak less. Dad was an impatient dog!

Source: turnaroundanxiety.com

We were scared of the man we called father, especially when we did something bad, when we stopped short of the mark. I remember an incident that took place shortly before my graduation from high school. While washing, I accidentally broke the special ceramic plate that my dad normally ate from. At first, I thought it was a less serious offense, at least not to be compared with my younger brother Richard who a few days ago stole some pound notes from mom's purse. Dad was so furious when he found out I broke his precious plate. He locked me up in the guest room for a day and afterwards reduced my food ration for a week.

"I keep telling you that you are so useless and will never amount to anything good!", he had said repeatedly over the next few weeks.

During such 'hot' weeks, one needed to really be careful about not making new wrong moves. Dad had a way of reminding you of your past mistakes and how you are either useless or a complete liability.

"All that you are ever so good at is eating my food. Can't anything good ever come from you, you dumbass!"

At school we never did so well.

Source: theodysseyonline.com

Richard was a little bit smarter than the dumbest kid in his class. At least he was! Mine was worse. I made more red marks than Class 0'10 put together. Somehow, dad's overbearing, nonchalant attitude seemed to have rubbed off on us. That excitement that comes with learning we knew not. There was very little to look forward to, to be concerned about. And then we had very few friends. Dad ensured that. We had little playing time or rather, we had no playing time at all.

It's 23 years now since dad passed on. I am more concerned about millions of several other kids who are currently having the kind of experience that I had as a kid some 48 years ago. I do a lot of thinking these days.

Parenting can be a lot more fun if we learn to spend more time with our kids.

A child certainly needs more than play toys. They need that fatherly, or parental, support without which they cannot survive. I guess that is why children are born into families, human families. I am looking at a 2016 CDC report right now. A section of this report reads in part:

...the mortality rate for children and adolescents aged 10–14 years...from 1999 to 2007, for suicide fluctuated and then doubled from 2007 (0.9) to 2014 (2.1, 425 deaths). The death rate for homicide gradually declined to 0.8 in 2014...[1]

Mortality rate among kids is on the rise everyday. When a child is subjected to tough love from his immediate family, chances are that he feels rejection right up to his bones. He feels inadequate. Depression sets in. Depression births suicide tendencies. Each new demonstration of that cold, insane love reinforces suicide thoughts. Then it happens.
He's had enough.

The kid takes his life.

You think this is simple for me? Last week I visited Matt's grave in Burnhill Fields.

Source: stoneletters.com

Matt decided to end his life after father discovered he had sexual relations with our next door neighbor, Ann. You did not want to be caught hanging around with a girl, let alone have sex. As Matt could not withstand the consequences of his action, he decided to end it.

Sad, right?

I think we have come to that point where we must decide which is more important: our career or your kids. One really doesn't deserve to have kids if one isn't going to be there for them, now does one? The things that most parents do in the name of parenting is just so mean. In Africa, it is so easy to find stories of young children who were not only molested emotionally, but subject to extreme and inhumane physical torture. This news is a story of a man who drove a 3-inch nail into the head of his eight year old nephew.

Source: humanium.com

Source: theguildng.com

I believe that we can have strong societies and strong cultural systems if - and only if - we raise strong families united by love. The family is the basic building block of any society. Where the society fails, know that for a certainly, this is to be blamed on failed families. We are partners in the development and advancement of our societies. There is really nothing to discuss when families are breaking apart. Perhaps the Florida mass shootings would not have happened if parents were more responsible and accountable for their wards. Perhaps the Charlotte shootings could have been avoided if parents were more loving.

And maybe, just maybe, Matt my brother would never have taken his life if he could trust his dad-our father- not to spite and make him feel like the world's deadliest sinners.

Source: Pinterest.com

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Thank you so much @surpassingoogle, @purepinay, @adsactly and @donkeypong for your continued support to us newbies on Steemit. Without you guys, I am quite sure we wouldn't come this far. I love y'all so much!

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REFERENCE

[1] QuickStats: Death Rates for Motor Vehicle Traffic Injury, Suicide, and Homicide Among Children and Adolescents aged 10–14 Years — United States, 1999–2014. MMWR Morb Mortal Wkly Rep 2016;65:1203. DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.15585/mmwr.mm6543a8)

FURTHER READING
https://www.google.com.ng/amp/mobile.reuters.com/article/amp/idUSKCN0I92B320141020