While recounting this story to a close friend, she stopped me immediately to ask the expected question: "Why did it matter that you went to see your fiancee at his job? Why was this a pivotal moment for you and your father? I don't get it!"
Ironically, it was not the pivotal moment in the whole story, although it was part of a series of events leading to self-discovery. The trip to the mall jolted me in understanding the reasons why I had defied my father in the first place.
Imagine this: Except for once, at a social gathering, with many people surrounding us, this was only the SECOND time I had met him, in person. I am sure until this day, my father does not believe me. Given my rebellious streak, the many times I disobeyed or challenged him, for me to have this clandestine yet 'safe' relationship was certainly out of character for me. It was still kosher in my eyes, albeit not in my father's. And not meeting him in person allowed me to justify my reasons in my intent to marry. I felt this wasn't the worse that I could do. Many girls I knew had done the unthinkable.
Be that as it may, my father taking me on that fateful shopping trip was part of His plan. Wake up and smell the coffee...one of my favorite phrases. I was in a caffeinated haze so much so that I disregarded the true essence of the coffee--the tastes and smells. All my father did was remove the caffeine so I could truly see reality of it all. At this point, the coffee metaphor was lost for my inquiring girlfriend.
Essentially, my father was all about three things: social status, education, and money. If you were missing these or just one of the criteria, you were not considered worthy. Three strikes and you were out. To many reading this, it may appear completely shallow. So to continue the ruse, I pretended that it did not matter to me. My mother said to me, if you prick the skin of anyone, male or female, poor or rich, educated or illiterate, we all bled the same colour of blood. Technically, I had all the criteria my father spoke highly of. But when I was bullied at a young age, I always thought it was because I was missing something. I was not good enough. And I wanted to be accepted for me. So I accepted my fiancee for who he was.
At the same time, growing up with highly educated, middle-class parents who had saved enough money to put us all through school, even if we specialized, I was rationalizing my father's values. Working hard was drilled into our brains since birth. Heck, even my mother remembered me helping her around the house and trying to read the newspaper when I was three! Perhaps back then I would probably be diagnosed with ADD because I could not sit still. Nonetheless, I was always doing something! It was instilled in our way of thinking and how we viewed life. I had my own personal values but they also were intertwined and blended with my family values. The dilemna was how to consolidate both without feeling I copped out.
My father made it very clear about my fiancee's situation: university drop-out, working low-paying retail job, no apparent family wealth and no current ambitions. I was angered with his judgement but deep down my father was rattling my core. In the end, how was he a match for me? With years of phone calls and letters, I thought I knew him well enough. But did I? Did I choose him for convenience? Did I choose him to rebel? Did I choose him in a downward spiral of vulnerability?
When my mother was alive, she was the last to judge anyone. With whatever limited freedom she possessed, I felt at times, she was trying to live her life through me. But she was always close, guiding me ever so gently without me knowing it. Take that part of the equation away and I did not know what I equaled to. Her death signalled the beginning of me trying to grapple with the unexpected.
My father was insidious, like a shrewd businessman, protecting his investment. However, his attempts at grappling with the unexpected was shrouded in an air of control. So much that it ultimately suffocated me. I know his intent was to protect me but I daresay I experienced a euphoric release to conquer rather than succumb to his domination.
My way or the highway. My father's favorite phrase. I tried to defy him by taking the highway. No directions, no map, no vehicle, no destination. At the end, I had no definate plan. He was just trying to thwart my attempts at rebellion.
And he succeeded in a subtle move that only my mother was famous for.
We both were part of that learning curve.
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