My father and I had always been at odds ever since I was small. He blatantly favoured my older brother Erick – to him he could do no wrong. Maybe it was because Erick was sickly and I am the stronger child. Or maybe because he’s a boy and I’m a girl. In our culture the emphasis is always on the boy, especially if he’s the ‘first born’. He also was very partial to Vilma, the sister who is two years younger than me.
When Erick and Vilma broke rules or did something bad, I was always included in the punishment. When I did something bad, I get punished alone. One incident that I could never forget, and sometimes I use it to justify my anger towards him, happened when I was in Grade One. Erick and I walked to school which was in another village and it took us about thirty minutes to get there. Erick’s classroom was in the main building, while mine (the little house behind my class picture two days ago) was another three blocks. One morning, Erick wanted to put his raincoat in my bag because it wouldn’t fit in his backpack. I refused because I had an equally heavy bag and I had to walk three blocks farther. He cried and heavens forbid the first born gets upset! Father ordered me to carry the raincoat. I started to reason out. I saw the horror in my mother’s face. In our home, the father is king and his word is the rule. He wouldn’t listen and yelled at me telling me to do as he said.
First it was a slap in the face. But I insisted. So I was ordered to lie on my stomach and he started to take off his leather belt. Now the reasoning has shifted to why was I going to be punished for reasoning when what I said made sense. The belt hit me; I cried, but I continued to reason out. To him, it was questioning his authority as the “king” of the family. He became angrier when I told him he was not being fair. For every refusal to go down on the floor on my stomach, I received a lashing. By the time I was black and blue, to me, it had become a matter of principle – my principle. I could be seven but I knew he was not being fair, and it was just wrong how he was treating me. And I did not hold back telling him that. He beat me up until that damn leather belt broke in two, which made him angrier and madder.
I didn’t go to school that day, I could not even sit on my butt. My mother, when we were left alone after, told me that it would be better to just do what he says rather than get a beating. She understood how I felt, but that father has to be always right because he was the head of the family.
When I went back to school the next day, Erick asked me to carry his raincoat. I refused. I never carried it for him that day, nor any other.
There had been other incidents where my father showed no concern for me, but now I understood it as fear on his part. When I finished grade school, he didn’t want me to go to high school because I would just get married anyway. I had to tell him that if I had no education, I cannot find a job to help support the family. I had the chance to train in gymnastics for free because my PE teacher thought I had potential. He didn’t want to, he was afraid it was a ruse to abuse me. After finishing high school, I passed two scholarship tests at University of the Philippines, but he didn’t want me to accept either because it was “too far” from home. I had to settle for a secretarial course in the local college. I had gold medal in steno and typing. Guess who was proud to pin the medal on me?
I love that you survived this and didn't let the bastard win. Better still, you didn't become either a victim or an abuser. Be proud, and best of all, be you.
One wonders where that strong sense of fairplay came from. I applaud you for your strength of character in the very obvoius face of disapproval. Fabulous capture of your proud moment.
Who knows how to explain the demons that drive parents to do this to a child? Thankfully, the spunk and determination you exhibited as a young girl also helped you to set out on your own and to conquer the world so to speak. You have a remarkable story!
