Pissed Or Hurt?

June 18, 2006

Have you ever been so pissed that you wanted to cry? Have you ever been so angry that you started to feel boiling hot tears roll down your face, onto your chin, and sizzle to their demise on your Sunday finest? Have you ever wondered, while looking at the burned hole that they left, whether you were crying because you were angry or because you were hurt?

My older sister told my "father" that she wanted to take him out for Father's Day today.
Just to give you a bit of background, my mother and father have had a rocky relationship since before I was born. When my sister was born, he stayed just long enough to get her pregnant with me. And then he left to go back to Mississippi. After coming to see me in the hospital, he declared that I looked nothing like my older sister. He said that if a child had the same parents as their sibling, shouldn't they look like their sibling? Soon after, they were divorced.
Seven years passed, and if I had seen my "father" on the street, I wouldn't have been able to identify him. All this time, he was living on the Southside of Chicago with his sister.

For some reason, perhaps out of desperation, my parents re-married when I was eight. And the next eight years were spent in a turmoil of anger, hurt, arguments, snide comments, and knife-hiding. (It's a long story) When I was 16, my parents divorced again.

Needless to say, my "father" has never been a steady source of support throughout the years. He mostly presents himself at occassions like graduations when he can brag on the wonderful job HE did. (Wow) He also insists that we come spend the holidays with his side of the family, which, after the death of my last grandparent, seemed like a viable option. But, two weeks ago, my sister made a date with my father to come pick us up after church and take him to brunch. Lawdamercy.

We get in from early service and there's a message on our answering machine. "Hey baby. This yo daddy. Ummm, I'm not gon be able to make breakfast today. But I do thank you for thinkin 'a me. I'll see y'all lata."

Instantly, my sister's stoic 24 year-old face crumpled. This, the girl who has yet to cry over the death of my grandmother or uncle. This, the girl who allows insults and slights to roll down her back like water off of a duck's butt. This, the girl who's never had a boyfriend because she doesn't have the "time or patience." Her face crumpled and she began to cry. I started to chastise her for even believing that he was coming, but instead, a stone got stuck in my throat, and as we got in the car to get breakfast with my mother, a few silent tears rolled down my cheeks.

I was instantly transported back to the age of 5 when my mother dressed my sister and me in our Sunday's finest and sat us on the couch to wait for my father to pick us up one Saturday afternoon for lunch. We sat on the couch for hours. My mother paced back and forth with reassuring smiles and encouraging words. "He'll be here soon. It's probably traffic." The sun moved into the middle of the sky. She called my aunt's house to see where he was. The sun set. She sat down next to us and hugged us tight. We refused to move. We feel asleep on that couch that night, waiting.

Now, I can't wait. Now, I feel the tear well drying up. But before that happens, I must ask, have you ever been so pissed that you wanted to cry? Have you ever been so angry that you started to feel boiling hot tears roll down your face, onto your chin, and sizzle to their demise on your Sunday finest? Have you ever wondered, while looking at the burned hole that they left, whether you were crying because you were angry or because you were hurt?