toxic parents

I have a story to tell you. I was there. This is what I saw.

It is 1976. I saw a man regretting his past actions and attempting to correct the course his young life had taken. I saw him cruelly desert his English wife and three children. For a few moments, he had taken a risk and stepped out of that circle his ancestors had drawn around themselves. He had married for love, the riskiest of all. And he deserted her for comfort, for tradition. For safety.

It is 1977. I saw a young woman, still a teenager, marry a man many years her senior, for duty, to fulfil her destiny. I saw her look at him as a worthy prospect, a provider for her future family. She saw a good name. She saw pride in her mother’s eyes.

It is still 1977. I saw a city gent choose a village girl for his wife. I saw him pick a girl he could train, mould in time, sculpt as his Eliza. I saw a man from a titled family decide on a village girl for a wife, someone who would always look up to him, never challenge him, never threaten. I saw him choose a girl.

It is 1981. I saw a silly young woman, the butt of her in-laws’ cruel jokes, in a foreign country. I saw an incompetent home-maker trying hard to learn on the job. I saw her ruin every meal. I saw her standing for hours in front of a washing machine unable to figure out how it worked. I saw her murmuring heartbreaking apologies for placing an electric kettle on a hot stove. I saw an unforgiving husband slap her.

It is 1990. I saw his half-English children, except they had grown. The oldest, a daughter, was the same age as his wife. They were sitting in a living room. She was crying. She showed me the silver ring on her finger. He bought it for her when she was fifteen. She had never taken it off. Though in shock, his young wife said nothing. She cooked them a lavish meal.

It is 1991. I saw a young woman dressed in white, crying for her dead husband. I saw her recoil in terror at the prospect of loneliness. I saw her make many mistakes. I saw a little boy being blamed for her loss.