IF PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE...

“You need to step up to the plate and take back control, father!” I urged. “You need to take charge of your own home! This is your home! You can’t let that brat boss you around and tell you what you can and can’t do.”

He nodded in agreement.

“You taught me everything I know about being a man,” I reminded him. “I am everything I am today because of everything you taught me during our long treks through the woods. You are no longer the man I used to know, father! Who did this to you? How did you come to this?”

He sighed and rocked his chair back and forth as he contemplated my words. 

He had long before then ceased to be the man I loved and looked up to as a young boy. Time had transformed him into a shadow of himself, and while it was not my place to dictate to him what to do with his life, I’d gotten fed up with the stories spreading through the neighborhood like wildfire. From what I’d heard, the happenings in the house had become the highlight of every neighborhood gathering.

“I’ve thought long and hard about these things, son.” He leaned forward in his chair and sighed. “I have also noticed the changes in me. I no longer think the way I used to. I no longer react to things and preempt them as I used to. I used to think it’s something that comes with age, but I no longer have confidence in that narrative. I have let go of the reins and allowed other people take charge of my affairs for so long that I have now come to fear that I may no longer be able to captain my fate as I used to. This is why I simply hear and obey. But I can’t continue like this.” He pushed himself off the chair and stood firmly on both feet with his arms akimbo. He tried to straighten his hunched frame, but failed. “It’s time for me to resurrect the man I used to be.”

I nodded my approval. “That’s the spirit, father. It’s time to take back control of your life.”

He stomped his foot on the floor and said, “I will no longer be told what to do in my own goddamned house. I built this house from the ground up, with my bare hands. This house is my castle. This house is my kingdom. This house is my territory. And anyone who wants to live in it will answer to me! Me! Me! And only me!” I saw fire in his eyes as he poked his chest with his index finger.

“That’s the spirit.” I cheered.

“I will say it to her face! There will be no more doing the dishes for me. No more!” he shook his head vigorously. “There will be no more cleaning floors for me. No more!” he swung his hands in front of his body. “There will be no more taking out the trash for me. Not anymore! I will no longer be the butt of jokes in this here community! I am going to tell her to her face! I am going to tell her enough is enough! I am the lord of this manor, and I will be the one issuing the orders henceforth! If I do any chores it will be because I choose to, not because I’m ordered to!”

“Yes, you are right, father.” I encouraged him. “You must take your rightful place at the helm of affairs.”

“It is my birthright!” he announced. “It’s going to be my way or the highway. There will be no other options on the table. There will be no further debates or analysis. I have made my decision and my decision is final.” He stomped his foot on the floor with more force than I imagined he could muster. “I will tell her to her face; no more late nights with her friends from the youth center! When your mother was here – God bless her soul – the setting sun never met her outside of this home! I told her she had to be back her before dark and she obeyed my law. I am the Senate, I am the House of Representatives. My word is law! She will obey me or she will leave, there are no two ways about it!”

We heard the sound of the door being unlocked from outside. She was back. I turned to face the archway that led from the door to the living space, prepared to see my father unleash the full brunt of his anger and frustration. I’d been the target of it so many times as a child, so I knew what to expect.

We heard the door close and we listened to the sound of footsteps coming in our direction. I folded my arms in-front of me and stepped aside so she and my father could face each other directly. 

She scowled at me and rolled her eyeballs, then turned to my father. “Your offspring is here – once again.” Her words left a bitter taste in my mouth. “What does he want this time? More loans?” I felt the bitter taste claw down my throat.

“He’s my son. He can come here whenever he wants to. And it’s my money, I can do with it whatever I please.” My father retorted, arms folded in front of him.

She was unpleasantly surprised. “I see. And who put that policy in place? Did I approve of it? Did you run it by me?” She squinted at him. When she dropped her bag on the chair and hurriedly took off the scarf wrapped around her neck, I prayed and hoped my father would stand his ground.

“No.” he replied. I noticed the shakiness in his voice, so I turned my gaze to him. He had lowered his hands to his side and he was struggling to maintain eye contact with her.

“Nothing happens in this house without my approval, do you understand? That’s how it has always been and that is how it will always be. I am in charge here!”

I expected a rain of fire and brimstone. I expected thunder and lightning. I expected the house to shake to its roots. But all he did was exhale. While he stood his ground, he started to move uneasily. I also noticed the glimmer of light from the beads of sweat congregating on his forehead.

Concluding that she had dealt with the threat, she picked her bag and hung her scarf on her shoulder. “Did you do the dishes like I told you to?” She did a quick survey of the living-room, and when she was satisfied with what she saw, she turned in his direction.

He started to say something, but stopped. At this point, he had turned his face away to the side, in the direction of the wall to his right. He raised his chin in defiance, but did nothing more.

She sneered. “Did you hear me, or do you want to get on my last nerve this evening?”

He cleared his throat, and as he lowered his head, he spoke under his breath, “Yes.”

“What?!” she thrust her head forward and slightly turned her right ear in his direction. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said yes.” He barked.

She chuckled and shook her head. “Good. Now, go into the kitchen and make us a plate of pasta and meatballs. That’s what I want to have for dinner.” With that, she turned and headed for the stairs with a spring in her step, confident of another victory over the old man.

He finally looked in my direction and we locked eyes. He noticed my disappointment, so he made one last attempt. 

“You know, there’s something I have to say to you!” he started. 

She stopped on the second stair and turned to face the both of us. She had a look of disgust on her heavily made-up face as she said, “And what is that?”

He was breathing so heavily that I could hear him from where I stood. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and struggled to keep looking in her direction.

“What do you have to say? Or are you just trying to waste more of my time?”

He lowered his gaze to his feet and exhaled. He wiped the sweat on his forehead with his palm and wiped it down on his pants. When she began to descend from the stairs, he raised his head, eyes wide open, and taking a step back, he said, “You look really good today, darling.” I didn’t need a psychologist help me decode the dread in his face.

She hissed. “Compliments will get you nowhere, dear. I already told you, it’ll be three months before you touch a single hair on this body.” She turned and began to climb up the stairs again.

He smiled uneasily and began to swing his arms nervously. He locked in on her generous and shapely bum, and then he said, “Just a few weeks to go, my darling. I am a patient man.”