^that is me as a baby. do you see my hair?
i was told that my mother never washed my hair.
she had my hair in plats until i was like 5.
when they finally took the plats out,
i had a bad rash and fungus underneath.
they found it disappointingly funny when i was told the story.
If my mother didn’t have any clue how to raise me, why didn’t she just kill me?
she could have lived her life freely without the responsibility.
i think i was destined to either be a drug addict or a crazy person. all the adults in my life didn’t help me in my growth at all…
my grandmother was one of the important figures in my life.
when my mother was running wild in the forestsof barbados,
it was my grandmother who made the sacrifice to take care of me as a baby.
i stayed at her spot during the week and saw my mother on weekends. although her methods of parenting were very abusive…
my reality is different from some of my family members it seems.
i’m starting to realizethat.
even though i love my grandmother,
it is no secret that she was abusive to us.
i think many caribbean people faced a shit ton of abuse. the last conversation i had with my father made me realize something…
we all weren’t blessed in life to pickour parents. if so, i would have picked a father who isn’t a liar and coward. caribbean fathers have a tendency to be the worst.
my father and i have had a very distant relationship over the years,
even when i was a kid in barbados.
it was all due to the issues between my grandmother and him.
he was only used to buy me school uniforms and haircuts.
i’ll never forget going out with him as a kid and one of his friends saying how “soft” i looked.
deep down inside,
my father knew that i would be gay but didn’t want to admit it at the time.
when we had an honest conversation a few years ago,
i revealed my sexuality to him and he claimed he already knew.
he let me know that i was his son and that he would accept me. tonight, things took a different turn during a phone call we had…