Burning memories:

What can you do with memories that have burned a hole in your mind, or branded themselves to the walls of your consciousness?
What if they are still there, burning a ring of pain and distrust for those who created them?

I have a good memory. Many people over estimate me, but only because of my reputation. I can listen to a song 2 times and have it mostly memorized. I can repeat a Bible verse enough times and memorize a chapter in two hours. I quote movie lines and others ask me for the correct wording of them. Birthdays and anniversaries take a bit more work, but I can lock them in my mind just like everything else if I acquaint them with something.

The downsides of this are: Any song, good or bad, I can and have memorized, and words and memories stick to me much longer than they would with others.

One such memory, has come to define how I see and react to my father. Every time I see him or hear him speak to others it comes and haunts me.

My mother had a gaggle of girlfriends going through college. I believe there were 4 other girls, one of them being my father's younger sister (which is how my mother and father fatefully met). While most of them have not kept up with my mother or Aunt, one of them still updated every now and again, and in 2006, she came to visit. It was the first time in a very long time that she and my mom had been together. My mother was her bridesmaid over 15 years ago, and now that we were in the States she stopped by and visited for a while with her daughter. She was always bright and lively. I had always liked her dark black hair and rosy cheeks. She talked and laughed and showed us pictures of the dream house she and her husband were building where they lived.
My Grandmother (father's side) was over and we were having a nice time, until my father came home from work unexpectedly.

Now, my father had a tendency to be rude, because he prides himself on being frank—brutally frank. I think he thinks it is more spiritual than being kind and taking things slowly. He has never really liked this lady, my mother and his sister's friend. He has said nasty things to her face about her being immodest, wearing the pants in her family (I would not know how substantial that claim is, so I cannot say it was a lie), and he almost refused to let my mother be in her wedding.

Therefore, the moment we knew he was home, we all tensed up. My father knew that this friend was coming over, and he had had steady work, so he was not going to be around to see her. (something my mother was probably glad of) However, for some reason or another he came home that day.

At first he was kind enough. He said hello, and asked after her trip and such. He even came over to look at pictures. Then, he began to abuse her.
“So, have you quit work, or do you..” (something to the effect of not care about your husband and daughter enough)

She was older now (more mature), and very judicious. She explained very slowly (through gritted teeth, I think) how she was working with to help pay off the house and it was taking a bit longer because they were adding an in-law quarters for his parents so that they would not have to enter a nursing home. She and her husband had agreed that she should work, and her daughter (who was with her and could surely not help over hearing) was being well cared for

My father did not let up, shooting words like a machine gun at her—quoting scripture, filleting her up and down with her sinful life.

She eventually stopped trying to get a word in edgewise and broke into fretful tears. The younger kids disappeared, probably hid somewhere because they recognized my dad's tone of voice. Her daughter stood in the other room with a terrified look on her face, and the rest of us women (my mother, older sister, his mother and me) sat with grim faces on, our heads down and in silence. We wanted so badly to jump up and defend her. I wanted to slap him, but didn't dare. We knew better. We said nothing and let fire rain down from the sky.

After about 10 minutes (or a lifetime, I don't know that I could estimate time correctly at that moment) he stopped to catch his breath. He finished his dissertation with a flourish, and then sealed it with an "invitation" for her to leave. She was to not show us any more pictures of her sinful life, or to enter his house again. She could stay to pack up her things and then she could find some place to go.

He calmly finished the soda he had poured for himself and left to return to whatever he was doing, confident that we were scared enough of him to obey.





Very little was said about it after the dust settled, and to this day it remains one of the darkest of my memories. I think on that day I was able to see my father for who he was, and I have not respected him since.

Only a base creature would feel proud and justified about attacking a woman under his own roof who was under her husband's authority and had his full permission to live the life she was living.

Yet, I know for a fact that if I were to ever bring up this incident he would tell it with gusto and feel more than justified for having protected his family from sin influences and having given her warning on how her life was leading her. He will not feel guilty about her evil lifestyle leading her to hell.