Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [41]
Ray hated his father, and he was not shy about letting everyone know it. Ray would rant and rave so vehemently, he would bring himself to tears and sometimes to the brink of an asthma attack. Rhonda had not yet gotten to the point where she hated Daddy, but she would listen to Ray just to be supportive. She didn’t know for sure what Ray’s reasons were for hating Daddy; he never told her.
Perhaps, she thought, he hates him because Daddy is so distant and angry. Maybe it’s because he always criticizes and chastises Ray. Daddy’s pet names for Ray were “punk” and “sissy.” He would push and punch Ray just to “toughen him up,” but this was never balanced with much needed guidance and support. Maybe it was the time he’d watched Daddy beat Rhonda into a state of unconsciousness. Or maybe it was the normal male rivalry that exists between boys of a certain age and their fathers. Rhonda knew that Ray was sick and tired of the war stories and the “white man’s out to get you” stories.
Rhonda didn’t understand having so much hate for one person. She never asked her brother why, and he never tried to explain. As far as Rhonda could see, her brother had absolutely nothing to complain about.
“You better stop talking about Daddy like that,” Rhonda would caution her brother. But she was so glad to be having a conversation, she’d take advantage of Ray’s anger just to keep the lines of communication open.
“Why? Why should I care about him? He doesn’t give a damn about us!” Ray was vehement in his response.
“Yes he does. He’s just busy.”
“You are so stupid, Ronnie. You are as stupid as he is.” Ray and Nett were the only two people who called Rhonda, “Ronnie.” Grandma usually called her “a pain in the butt,” and Daddy, when he was around, called her “lamb chop.” But lately, “stupid” seemed to be Ray’s favorite name for her.
“What are you complaining about? Didn’t he buy you that bicycle for your birthday? He never buys me anything.”
“That cheap piece of crap? He probably found it on the street or in the garbage. Probably got it from one of his women.” That would always get Rhonda’s attention.
“What women?” Were the rumors she heard at the Saturday night card parties true?
“See, stupid, you don’t know anything. You see him driving up and down the streets with those women in his car. Who do you think they are? They’re not our mother. She’s dead!” Ray knew what effect his words would have.
“Our mother is not dead! Nett is our mother. She’s our mother and you know it, Ray!” This was Ray’s cue to back off.
“You are so stupid!” Ray would say as he headed toward the sanctuary of his room.
“She is too our mother!”
“Yeah, right, stupid. Get outta my face! You are so dumb it’s unbelievable.” With that, Ray would shut his bedroom door, leaving Rhonda fuming in the hall. Rhonda didn’t know what Ray knew for sure, but she knew it was more than he was willing to share with her.
It wasn’t Ray’s fault that people liked him better than Rhonda, or that Grandma let him sleep in her big four-poster bed while Rhonda slept on the floor. He could hardly be held responsible for the fact that his sister was accused of asking too many questions, talking too much, and generally getting on people’s nerves. What was he supposed to do when his sister was being beaten or punished for doing something that he had warned her not to do? So he ate the cookies Rhonda couldn’t have because she was being punished or beaten, and he enjoyed his television programs while she had to sit on the floor, in the corner.
It wasn’t his fault that his mother had died, or that his father was an angry, distant man who rarely had a kind word to say. Like his sister, there was little Ray could do about any of that. What he did do was stay out of everyone’s way and keep his mouth shut. Besides, he had his own problems.
For the first twelve