Page 31 - Letter to My Father Curriculums_Neat2

Dear father, how have you been? I pray everything in your life is great and that you are in good health. It
has been years since we spoke. Ursula and I keep in touch so she lets me know how grandfather and all
the family are doing. She also sent me a tape of the last family reunion and grandfather’s 90th birthday
party. I have come to know my aunt better than I can ever imagine knowing you, my father. The bond
she and I continue to share is remarkable, and I cherish it. Ursula is unable to get information about your
whereabouts and my inquiries are never answered with any certainty.

What have you been doing with your life? Are you still searching for spiritual truth, or have you studied
enough history? Have you accepted the fact that Selassi I is not god but a powerless, mortal being like
ourselves? I know every man is responsible for his own choices but to stray so far from realistic
ideologies and pursue such a cult, feels like you completely disconnected from reality. You do know
there is only one true living God, the creator of the heavens and the earth, don’t you?

Do you still wear dreadlocks? Are you still a Rastafarian? You changed your name from Matthew to
Chaka - both are easier to say than “daddy.” I would love to have an intriguing conversation about
history, God, and what you believe. It would be delightful to listen to your views now, instead of with
the ears of an innocent little girl. We use to enjoy a common interest in historical events, a joy of
intellectual debate. I admired that you were well read, had studied the past in such detail. I feel certain
that if you and I again shared this communality of debate, it would invite and expand a more meaningful
daughter- father relationship. I long for my heart to return again to that of a little girl‘s.

But remember Matthew, at first, I never knew you. I considered you dead, literally and figuratively,
never allowing you in my thoughts at all before that infamous day when we first met – in a street fight
when I was just eleven years old. We had never met before you tried to snatch me from my mother’s
arms. My body still quivers from the memory of that catastrophic moment! It still feels like a bad
dream, a stain on my mirror every time I try to look into it, a scar within me. I remember your disturbing,
violent expression, your attack on my mom and me on the streets of Port of Spain. You held on to my
feeble hand with such force that I could not breathe. Even today, I can’t think beyond the nightmare of
that moment. My mind continues to shut off from happened next. There is no remembrance of our
rescue, and my mind continues to remain blank when I try to think of the details of that day. All I know
is you were not successful in your attempt, your empty statement of love to my mother and the world.
Matthew, how murderous to do such a horrifying thing to your small daughter! I have never been able
to erase the thought of a stranger trying to steal me? How damaging it has been to find out that the
stranger was my father, my father who was actually a stranger.

But, like every daughter, once I discovered your existence, I longed to have you, the sudden appearing
magician in my life. When I was a little girl, I would sit or lie in my bed, close my eyes and dream with
the flare of a big screen story. I enjoyed dreaming, the stories I told myself. Stories of a fairy-tale, a
vision of my other life decorated to perfection. I always looked different in my dreams, with a perfect
mother and father, the perfect family. They were dressed with desires far from my reality. I know now
that my dreams were a form of self-expression to make up for the lack of a father and his influence on
my life. Your actions told me a story then, a story of neglect and selfishness, a true story written over
the decades. So as a child, I created a father, a fairytale, a perfect you.

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