Growing Numb

Dad was my hero. He had always been.

I remember the first time Dad took me for a driving lesson in his old Chevy. We went somewhere in town that was quite deserted, so there would be no danger of me crashing into something or somebody.
"We will be safe here", he said.

The roads hadn't even been paved yet, and we were surrounded by enormous bamboo plants which looked quite daunting. The floor was uneven and as it hadn't rained for days; very dusty.

I wasn't excited, though. I was terrified,mortified, petrified.
Not of driving, don't get me wrong. It was Dad and his temper that always scared the shit out of me.

Only I know how much I had wanted to please him, only I know the pain that came from not being able to do so and from not being able to come up to his expectations; it was much worse than the beatings. I so desperately wanted to be loved, admired and praised by Him. I was being given another chance.

It wasn't just the two of us in the car. He had made sure that Mum, my brothers and sister came too, and I knew why.

I was only 16, but I knew that they were there for a reason: Dad wanted them to witness his power over me; he wanted them to witness my being talked down to, my shame and my failure. He wanted them to share his disgust for me. He had always been so good at finding ways of doing this; oh the mental abuse hurt more than his heavy hands.

My first attempt at turning the engine on, putting first gear and releasing the clutch was a complete disaster. I was so nervous and anxious that I released the clutch far too quickly, and as a result the engine died, the car moved forward in a sudden and unpleasant way that made us all look and feel like rag dolls as our heads lurked back and forth.

I could feel His anger, I could feel it coming my way. I swallowed dry, sweat cold and waited.

it didn't take long. I tried to shut it out and failed as always, his shouting was like thunder, and he was telling me how useless and embarrassing a daughter I was. The angry words came followed by a slap that hit me so hard that I knew I'd bruise. My face was burning, my heart was aching.

I couldn't do anything right. As always, I was wasting his time and everybody else's. I felt like I wanted to be buried alive.

Nevertheless, I swallowed my pride and my tears and gave it a second go. After all, I was my father's daughter, and I was supposed to be strong, tough, fearless.

I cast him a glance hoping for comfort, pride, love and patience but saw nothing but anger and disgust. HE was my DAD, and I was supposed to be his babyluv. I thought I was, I desperately wanted to think so.

He looked at me and saw nothing. I looked at him and saw it all. I thought and felt that I wanted and could make him proud. "Please, Dad, let me, try me, allow me."

I tried again. This time more slowly, for everybody's relief, and managed to get the car going in first gear.

By the time I had half-learned how to change from first to second gear at the right time, my face was red, I was covered with sweat and my head was throbbing. I could no longer hold my tears. I could no longer carry on.

No more driving lessons, please, Dad. Not today, not tomorrow. Just let me be, please. I can't drive, I can't do it, I surrender, you win, I admit defeat.

I knew that would please him. He loved it when I admitted defeat. He loved it when he proved me wrong, he loved the feeling of control and power over me, over anybody. He cherished it. And of course he taught Mum and my brothers and sister to cherish it too.

I had to survive, I had to learn how to make myself numb to him.