My Father Had Two Faces

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“A double minded man is unstable in all his ways”-James 1:8

Samantha:

I remember the days growing up. It seemed like we were always at church. I didn’t mind because my father was the Pastor. We had some fun days, long but fun. He was a well-respected man in the community and a pretty good father too. I don’t remember my father fussing at us a lot or even whipping us. Nothing went on in my neighborhood without dad knowing about it. He was very influential at city hall, the police department, the Mayor’s office as well as the Governor’s office. It was my dad who orchestrated our first block club. Our church wasn’t mega but we were pretty popular. Everybody looked out for each other.

I think my favorite days were Saturday’s. My brother, my mom, and I would play board games while dad would sit quietly in a chair studying for Sunday’s message occasionally glancing over at us with a smirk on his face.  It was worth it too because my father would preach as if it was going to be his last time. If you walked in our church you would think you were at a Michael Jackson concert. Yep, that’s the affect my dad had on people. My mom would cook on Sunday afternoons before evening service and it seemed like everybody would stop by to eat. When we would come home from  our Sunday evening service she would always fix his coffee then make sure we had what we needed for school the next day. My mother would always say to us, “Don’t forget to say your prayers before you go to bed”.

I remember one night while I was saying my prayers I heard a loud noise and ran into the kitchen, my mom was on the floor and dad was standing over her screaming, “Damn yo stupid ass don’t even know how to make coffee” My dad had punched my mother in the stomach because his coffee wasn’t hot enough. The loud noise I heard was my mother falling down in the middle of the kitchen floor and now laying in a fetal position. You see although my father was a pillar in the church and community, he had two faces. The first face was the one I described previously then the other face was the one that beat the hell out of my mother. As stated before, Saturday nights were my favorite because that was the only night I knew dad wouldn’t beat her or yell at her. 

How could someone be so caring, so soft spoken, so compassionate yet be so evil and say you’re called of God? Oh I know how, because my father had two faces, the face that illuminated the pulpit then the face that darkened our home. I think the worst memory I can recall is when I witness my father beat my mother with a belt, “You a stupid whore, you a stupid whore”, “But I’m gonna beat some sense in you” All because he missed an appointment that he forgot about. He blamed her for all his misfortunes. He beat her so bad with that belt, that for two weeks she couldn’t come to church. Well of course he lied and told people mom was sick and the golden rule of our home from my mom was, “Whatever goes on in our house stays in our house”. Not all of his abuse was physical. After the belt incident I think he realized he went too far and perhaps he may be exposed. So the physical abuse wasn’t as often. But the verbal, mental, emotional and spiritual abuse seemed like it was never ending. He called my mother every b@&#% he could think of. He broke my mother. He broke her esteem, her confidence, and her spirit. After all he was her Pastor??? What a joke! Who made that rule up?

I moved out my house at the age of 20 my brother moved out a few years later, he was 19. I grew up knowing all this and couldn’t say a word not even to my mother. Well when I left home I left his church. I refused to keep sitting in his church knowing what he was doing and listening to what he was saying…Hell Nawl! You see, I hate my father. Even until his day I hate him. He was such a hypocrite, such a liar, such an “a” hole.  Don’t get me wrong my dad was a provider, we didn’t want for nothing; it just came with a price. I didn’t understand how could a man, who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t do drugs, didn’t sleep around (not that I now of) and barely watched TV, be the same well-reverenced man that everyone loved? What gospel was he preaching and teaching?  He laid hands; got people delivered, counseled couples and mentored men both young and old be such a monster at home?

I struggle today with trust issues especially church guys I don’t fool with them. I’d rather date a nigga I met in a bar or a club at least I know where they’re coming from.  Now my brother on the other hand, is a church musician and all he does is sleep around with different women in the church and outside the church. Sometimes when I visit (not too often) different churches I wonder how many skeletons are in that Pastor’s closet. Yeah, yeah I know we all have issues and we shouldn’t judge people but geesh, you’re a pastor. I feel if you got problems deal with it. Stop being a manipulator and hiding out behind the pulpit!

  

Well both of my parents died both them fairly young. My father was in his late 60’s when he died he had cancer then mom died 3 years later of the same thing. Before she passed I had the opportunity to ask her a question as to why she stayed with my father and endured all the abuse.  She answered me with a soft and short answer, “Because he was my husband and he was your father” “He may have had some issues but I know who he was and he was God’s man with a good heart”.  I then said to her, “But mom, he beat you, he disrespected you”. “He was an imposter”. “He may have been God’s man but was he not a man of God”. I never really confronted my dad about it but I do remember him saying on a few occasions, “Preaching is what I do” “Being a Pastor is my job” I truly believe this statement because his preaching didn’t reflect his life. It was just his job you know his occupation. He was a great employee but a terrible man.

My father had two faces!