Saturday, October 18, 2008

My estranged father and I.

Well he didn't really say that. My father that is. But I do love my homophobic father though. Even after almost two years of absolutely zero contact. Yeah, so I was talking to my mother and we were just blabbing about this and that and then she mentions that he (my father that is)had been crying non stop lately. According to my mother, he has been feeling remorseful for our falling out. Right, so just briefly, this aunt of mine (my father's sister) whom I have never been fond of and she knows it, decided to "out" me to my father on her last trip back to Africa. She actually never got to say anything since I beat her to it. I didn't want my father to find out from someone else. The right thing to do, right? Well not quite. He basically wrote me off and said in no uncertain terms that no son of his can possibly be gay. And that as the head of the family (whatever the f_ck that means) he couldn't allow it. Allow? I shouted. Of course I cussed him. Just kidding. I simply told him to go to hell. Long story short, we haven't spoken ever since. That is up until this past Thursday when my mother told me how miserable his life has been for the last eighteen months. I asked her to put him on the phone and of course like the macho, controlling African man that he can't fail to be, he asked me about school and work and my sisters and all that except the yellow elephant in the room. Ugh! I was glad to hear his voice though. We didn't talk about anything that actually matters. Well not that my sisters and work and school don't but...Yeah so I was thrilled by the fact that we even talked at all.

He asked me to call him again next week, and I will. But I know that we won't be talking about my sexuality anytime soon. Oh well. Ç'est la vie!