Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [66]
Rhonda and John worked together at the rehabilitation center. Rhonda was the only female counselor on the staff. John was a recovered heroin addict and the assistant director of the program. Rhonda knew nothing about the culture of drug addiction and even less about the process of recovery. John was her teacher. He had been on the other side of the table for eight years and on this side for the past five. He was a good teacher and quite protective of Rhonda during the first few months of her employment. They both worked the night shift and often ate dinner together. They ran support groups together. They spent many nights talking about clients and other things. John made Rhonda laugh. She helped him with his reports. It seemed very romantic. When the program director gave Rhonda a glowing review after her first nine months, Rhonda gave John a key to her house. That was one year before he hit her the first time.
When Rhonda got to work that night after he hit her, John insisted that he was sorry. “You made me mad,” he said. “You made me hit you.” That was his apology. He explained that he didn’t like it when Rhonda didn’t answer him. He didn’t like it when she turned her back on him. That, he said, was disrespectful and unnecessary. Rhonda peered at John over the rims of the sunglasses Nett had loaned her to hide her bruised eye. She thought she must be hearing things. Then she understood.
“You’re blaming me for making you hit me?” John didn’t like the sound of that.
“It is your fault. Every time you get around your mother, you act like you’re too good to talk to me.” He had a point. Rhonda was aware that Nett didn’t like John, and it probably did influence her behavior when Nett was around. But that was not the case this time.
“My mother was in her house when you hit me for not giving you the keys to my car.” John didn’t like the way that sounded, either. He stood up at his desk, towering over Rhonda. When she instinctively put her hands up to cover her face, John became sorry again and sat down.
“Please go home. Your eye looks so bad. I don’t want anybody to see you like this.” He sounded genuinely concerned, but Rhonda knew the truth. John did not want the clients or staff to see the results of his outburst. Eventually, John’s pleas got the best of Rhonda. “I promise I’ll never hit you again. Do you believe me? Please believe me.” John was still pleading when the taxicab pulled off to take Rhonda home.
When you think you love someone, you try your best to overlook their shortcomings. John had many shortcomings, some of which were glaring, most of which made him extremely insecure. Although he had been to college, he could barely read or write. John was six feet two inches tall and weighed two hundred pounds. That was not the reason he had one overdeveloped breast. The breast was the result of a glandular dysfunction that also altered his moods. It was the same dysfunction that caused his asthma. It was the asthma that incapacitated him when he became angry or upset. It was the frequent periods of incapacitation that led to the excessive machismo when he was feeling good.
Rhonda was grateful to John for all he had done for her. He had paid attention to her when no one else had. He had taught her a great deal about the profession of counseling and the process of recovery. He’d helped her through the difficult time she was experiencing after Curtis disappeared. John knew all about Curtis and Gary; and he still treated their children like they were his children. Damon and Gemmia called John “Daddy.” It takes a real man, Rhonda