Life Story: My Father Called His Neglect Tough Love

Now that I’m an adult and a father myself, I clearly see that my father did not heal from the demise of his late wife, nor was he ready for another family. He wasn’t  ready to love again when he married my mother. I believe he thought he was betraying his original family if he wholeheartedly loved us, because he always held back. It wasn’t tough love, it was pain and fear.

He withheld his affections from us, my big sister and I, but he lavished his time and affection on Gideon. It was clear as day, and I know it saddened our mother a lot.

This issue of our father treating his children differently was the bone of contention in many of my parent’s arguments. Mother complained, talked, cajoled and pleaded, all to no avail. I think she eventually gave up and concentrated on making sure she united all three of her children, Gideon included. She never discriminated against who was and who wasn’t a direct fruit of her womb. She loved us all the same, corrected us all the same and directed us all the same. One of her most favorite line was, “Protect each other, the world out there is rough.”

Mother made sure we stuck together, all three of us. She served our meals together and always gave us chores that required us working together. She taught us to apologize to each other when we were wrong, she showed Gideon and I how to treat women by making sure we practiced with her and our sister. Because of mother’s efforts, all three of us are thick as thieves regardless of our father’s shenanigans.

Our father on the other hand was very intentional in dividing his children. Where he couldn’t stand for me to be in his company, he doted on Gideon. The older I got, the more apparent it became that my father wasn’t very fond of me. It hurt a lot, and I asked my mother many questions about it. She always said my father loved me but didn’t know how to show it.

If ever we were in the family room together watching television and I sat close to him, he would say, “Scoot over there, you’re too clingy.”

If ever I tried to follow him anywhere, especially on his evening walks, he would say, “Your mother has turned you into a softie, don’t follow me! Mommy’s boy!”

But even when Gideon didn’t want to, he forced him to accompany him almost everywhere he went.

It was hard to watch my father be affectionate to the sons and daughters of his friends. In those days, he had a vibrant social circle, and he was one of the most educated and most financially successful people in that group, so his friends respected and sought his opinions a lot. Whenever they had problems with their children or needed advice for their children’s education, they came to my father. And he would take his time to talk to these children, coach and direct them with such care and passion, it was painful to watch. When it came to outsiders, it appeared his tough love theory didn’t apply.

When it was time to go to senior high school, it was my mother who helped me get admission into Prempeh College. My father spent that school season counseling his friend’s children as to what school to go to and what subjects to offer.

Whiles I was in Prempeh, my father frequented Kumasi a lot because of the nature of his work, and yet he never bothered to check on me. Meanwhile he went to KNUST to see Gideon every time. I know this because Gideon made sure to visit me on visiting days and shared the money he received from our father with me. I remember my brother’s attempts at cheering me up when I complained about our father’s so-called tough love, he would say, “You’re not missing anything, his visits aren’t that interesting.”

While in second year in Prempeh College, I contracted pneumonia and was admitted at KATH. My lungs were so  weak, I could barely walk. One afternoon, both my parents were with me in the ward, and I needed to undress, wear a hospital gown, to go take an x-ray. But I could barely hold myself up. So my mother attempted to help me. I still remember his tone and how he shouted at my mother to let me do it myself. I forced myself to stand so I could undress, I fell down flat, before I could get one leg out of pants. My mother’s screams that afternoon still rings in my ears sometimes, and so does my father’s sneer. He threw a wad of cash on the hospital bed for my mother to pay my bill, and he walked out, a look of disgust plastered on his face. He didn’t even turn to take one more look at me while orderlies helped me into a wheelchair. That was a part of his all-important tough love.

Another incident happened in Prempeh that taught me to close my heart to my father for good. It was visiting day, mother had visited me the previous visiting day and had made it clear she couldn’t come on this particular day, so I wasn’t expecting anyone. But one of my mates, who was the son of my father’s good friend came to my dormitory and told me my father was around. My father had come with his friend to see his son. So I rushed to go see my father, I was filled with excitement. As soon as I neared him, he shouted, “Haven’t you seen me before, what is all that running for? Your mother was here two weeks ago, wasn’t she? So what do you want running like a beast is chasing you?”

I could feel all the eyes of my mates and visiting parents on me. Hot tears stung my eyes.  I greeted him and his friend, turned around and made for the dormitory. I fell twice before I entered my dorm room, I was blinded by tears.

One of my mates who had been present later asked if he was my stepdad, I replied, “Yes,” because it was easier to deny him than to explain why he disliked me so.

I could give many, many more instances, but I think these are enough. The tough love my father taught me has borne fruit. That fruit is detachment, it is distance, it is a non-existent bond, a lack of relationship.

My father paid for my way through life till I was old enough to pay for myself. So I return the favor, I send money to my mother and sister both on regular basis to cater for his needs. My wife also sends him a monthly stipend in my name, it is her initiative not mine but that’s okay.

Now that most of his dear friends are either dead or bedridden, my father has remembered his son. He and Gideon aren’t exactly the friends he envisioned they would be, so now he knows me, enough to try to force me to relate to him. But that ship has sailed. His tough love worked, I am more than capable of fending for my own emotional needs. And my mother has tried, but she can influence me only so much at this point.

I have in the past tried to bond with my father. But it has always felt forced and unauthentic. And I hate faking things, it takes a toll on my mental health. So I stopped. I am not about to pretend a relationship exists when it doesn’t.

So here is to tough love dear father. You taught me well.

Difficult childhood? Learn from people who have overcome childhood adversity.