I just finished reading *Psalm 6, and it reminded of the narcissistic parent and sibling issue. So here goes.
I was a child whose father as more overtly loving. Unlike my mother who told me I was ugly, had a large forehead, looked like a boy, had thin calves, couldn’t dance, had too wide hips (That one only came in adulthood) and looked ugly with short hair (Said when I cut my hair and was growing my locs)
Unlike my mother,y father never told me my lips were ugly, embarrassing and looked like those of a drunk. He told me I was his black beauty, I had skin like dark mahogany wood and he would dance with me and play with me- when I was under six years old. I have fond memories of him. He made scones, made us yummy hot chips and made us porridge for breakfast. He also made amagwinya (vetkoek) and until I started cooking at age 13, cooked quite a lot as well.
But he also used to beat us mercilessly with a long cane. I don’t know what it was made from, it was like flexible wood. Or, like a very hard whip. It was as thick as my index finger and not breakable. He would beat us even when we knew we hadn’t done anything ‘wrong,’ no matter what age we were. Whether it was a mistake (like mistakenly breaking a vase while sweeping), or childish naughtiness. As I got older, I started realizing that he wasn’t punishing us, he was abusing us. I remember one time he was chasing my little sister with the cane and I told her to run. I tried to lock us into the bathroom but knew there’d be even more trouble when we came out. I tried to get into his way and run in front of him but then he just whipped me instead and still ran after her. I told him he was abusing us and would phone the police – didn’t help. And I didn’t know if Black police officers would really have viewed it that way anyway. So I didn’t.
School…My father wanted me to get an education. Even on decades “stay away” days when our people were on strike to try force the apartheid government to take us seriously, when my own school headmistress spoke to us and told us it would be ok for me to stay home so they don’t attack us for breaking their rules, he took me to school. He even took me to school when the whole country was on lockdown and no school was open, thankfully stopped from leaving me outside the gates alone, hates that wouldn’t open, by another dad who had arrived first and told him there was absolutely nobody there so he shouldn’t leave me behind. He valued education above everything else. We had a Christian version of Girl Scouts at our church. From 10-12 on Sundays. If I hadn’t done all our homework, my dad would stop us from going. I’d remind him that I had the whole of the afternoon to do it. He refused. For me as a young child, it felt like he was putting secular education ABOVE God. As mentioned before, my mother definitely didn’t value God at all. She’s the one who mocked me when she walked into my room when I was 16 years old, “What? You’re reading your Bible? Are you trying to make yourself holy?” Wow. “Staunch Adventists” as her sister claim they are.
I will summarise it this way. Two Sabbaths ago, my daughter asked if I miss being young. If I missed being a little girl her age. I told her honestly. “No. No I don’t. My mom used to hit me for anything and everything with whatever was next to her hand. My dad also used to whip us. They didn’t help me with to school work and weren’t fair. I used to wish a kind mom and dad would adopt me. I don’t miss being a child at all.”
I did. I’d seen my friends’ moms. They were even kinder to me than my own parents. They cared about my preferences. My parents hated that I was a bookworm. My friend’s mom let me read books at my friend’s birthday party! I am such an introvert! I’m embarrassed NOW! But it was a pool party, I was 13 and didn’t know how to swim as doctors had told me to never let my ears get water after having recurring middle ear infections from age 3 upwards. It was a PARTY!!! But while the rest of our friends, and the birthday girl played in the pool, I sat quietly reading a book her mom had told me to choose from her personal bookshelf. “N told me you like reading and are shy. If you want to read something, I’ve got lots of books here!” Never ever did a parent ever even know my preferences! When I was 16, I told my mom that my smoking friend had invited me to a club. What we called a rave back then. (I don’t know if they still have raves today.) I was telling my mom in the context of, “Can you believe she asked ME, a Christian girl, to a RAVE!?” My mom’s response was a questioning, “So why aren’t you going??”
Preferences. I was a bookworm that loved my Bible. THAT was wrong. I should have been going to clubs.
Upside down parenting and I didn’t realise it back then. I didn’t realise that the continued insults about my personal, my personality, my body, my looks were abuse. I was abused not only physically, but emotionally or psychologically. And the scars remain for a long time.
But there were moments that made it better. Where I thought, “Well, I’m ugly in my mom’s eyes, but others don’t think so. Maybe I will find a husband who thinks I’m beautiful.”
The Coloured bakery lady at Pick n Pay when I was in high school who called a Black man from the back to say to him, “Look at her! Isn’t she beautiful!!???” I wanted to cry. I had never been ‘admired’ before for anything except my singing by the choir mistress.
Or the Coloured homeless lady when I was in university who told me, “Oh my word! Look at your smile! Everybody!! Look at her beautiful smile! I was having a bad day, girlie. But your smile has filled my heart.”🥹
How could I forget a few years ago? Sitting in a restaurant in Durbanville and a White Roman comes to me and says, “I hope you don’t mind me coming to say this. But my daughter is 11 and she’s been staring at you all evening! She said you’re beautiful! You look like a princess!”
And even today, I have a friend who tells me I look younger than my 43 years and tells me I’m beautiful. I have a friend who LOVES my grey hair. (My mom used to make me dye her hair black.) One day I’ll believe the kind voices. One day they’ll permanently drown out all the negative words I heard over my 43 years of life from the one who should have been my biggest support and who society taught us loved us the most. What a warped idea of love did I grow up on? (Totally grammatically wrong! But that’s what I knew. My mom loves me. She buys me things. She beats me. And she tells me I’m ugly.) She told me she couldn’t wait for my locs to grow so I stop looking ugly. They grew but she found other things to be negative about. I don’t know why I hoped it would end one day.
And actually, yes, mom. I do want to be holy. And God is ok with that! And for Him and others who love Him, LOOKS DON’T MATTER! He doesn’t point our perceived physical flaws out to us. Nor make life all about looking beautiful. He wants the heart, though I will say I know I am fearfully and wonderfully made!
I’ll end with this. The last thing my mother said to me before her death, the very last words she spoke, were, “You’re fat. Your lips finally look better than they did but you’re fat. But that’s good. I like fat.”
When I went to the house upon hearing she’d died that morning, as we got out the car, I reflexively buttoned up my jacket, thinking to myself, “Ok, close it up so mom doesn’t tell me I’m fat. Maybe she won’t mention it…” (I’m very sensitive about my big post- twin pregnancy belly)
Then I remembered. Her words would never come from her mouth ever again. I was there because she was dead.
* I will share Psalm 6 at a different time. It reminded me of someone who was given the power to utter vile words by my mother.
They said I should write a book 