A Late Homecoming
“ Not under my roof…” said my father, voice arching up with the frustration of many years.
“Wait on, dad. Wait on.” I interrupted in a tone as even as I could muster.
“It’s not my intention to offend you. It’s OK. We’ll make our own arrangements.”
And in that short moment I slipped from under a shadow that had dogged me my whole life.
Some of my earliest memories were of of vain attempts to have my father’s approval. This time felt different. Our struggle, was the same as those that inspired that great stories throughout history, the son’s ordeal of meeting the Father.
The more one struggles to win the father’s approval the worse it gets. Accidents become mistakes, mistakes misdeeds, misdeeds catastrophes. I gradually came to think that the grand purpose of my life was to be a cautionary tale for others. The triumph of overcoming the need for my father’s approval was immediately set upon by the feeling of loss. In that moment I knew I would never have the relationship I craved. I would be my own man.
The issue at the moment was on that most wayward children of fundamentalist Christian parents face at some time. My father followed the good book and was not an angry man. He was loved and respected by the community and for good reason. But to me he was a harsh disciplinarian especially in the privacy of the family. Not for want of emotional control but on principle, for his own eternal salvation and that of his family. What other people did was their business. But in his home, there would be no exceptions.
