Happy Father's Day?

My Love / Hate Journey With My Racist Father.

*Warning: Trigger Alert*

My father was racist.

While growing up, I avoided him as much as I could; I despised his hate. ?He angered me constantly, he confused me, yet I was determined to teach him a lesson. I grew up an instigator, debater, and came to this planet using the 'Five Why's Method' before it was ever a ‘thing.’?

Hate was what he knew; his father raised him as such. But I didn’t let dad use the family dynamic excuse as a crutch.? I was relentless.

Because of this, I suffered emotional abuse added with a pinch of physical abuse.?I was taken out of public school because there were too many ‘colored kids’ or, too many ‘harmful cultures.’ They utilized grandmother's savings to put me in a Parochial Lutheran School teaming with affluent whiteness.? We were low-class white trash. I was bullied.

Dad would throw things at me if I said something he thought inappropriate – aiming for my head. I’m a third grader with a bruise on my brow line from an entire birthday cake - on a large platter - being thrown at me. If I yelled back, I endured a bar of soap in my mouth to "clean up my language." I’m a sixth grader calling the police on my dad because he was threatening our Black neighbors with a gun. They were having a cookout. I was in high school when I asked a friend (who was a member of a locally well-known “motorcycle club”) to corner dad one night as he stumbled out of his car to enter the house drunk as usual. I just wanted them to have a ‘conversation.’

I was proud of my friend and proud of what he stood for. His group of veterans desired peace and respect for everyone.

Known only as Captain, he was a fearless streetwise older Black man who welcomed me into the fold of the Black veterans group. I learned to ride. He was the father of one of my dear friends I worked with. He and others listened to me as I cried from my frustrations at home. When bullied in school, I could call on a pay phone (yes, my age is showing) and they’d be there. They kept me away from the bullies and I never had to worry about someone ‘advancing’ on me s&xually – Captain would’ve personally taken care of it.?I learned about what was right and what shouldn’t be tolerated.

When I wanted to bring my bestie over to hang out with mom and cook all day, I was told "your friend is not welcome." It makes me wince typing this.

So I left. Renting a tiny efficiency apartment above a garage, I found freedom.

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As I hit my stride in adulthood, my mentoring and empathic personality flourished. Always a comedic nerd with too many books, I learned about spirituality outside of religious dogma, and I adhere to Buddhism. I found my respite. (This didn’t go over well at the Lutheran church.?I didn’t care – still don’t.)? My lessons with my dad about respect of others were constant and became fiercer the older I got.? I stood before him and a group of hateful men at the “VFW hall” one night; claiming that hate has no place in or near my life - nor in this world. ?I asked them, “why? Why do you do this?”? They laughed at me. My dad laughed along with them.

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Mom passed, then grandmother.?Dad was alone.

The ending to this story is that before my dad died, I saw his true self. He did have a heart in all that mess.

I cooked a steak dinner. He couldn’t eat – said he was sick to his stomach. He sat down and cried. I never saw that before. We were never touchy. He hugged me tight at that moment. He asked me to forgive all of it.? All. Of. It.? He said he loved me. Then he said two words that I still hear to this day: "I'm sorry."

His death was devastating, because as an only child there’s only three people who mattered to me – my father, my mother, my grandmother.?He just took a nap on the couch one afternoon and passed away from heart failure.

Captain’s death was devastating.? Lung cancer caught up with him. It took him quickly.

Two dads gone. That's how I see it.

Postscript: After dad passed away, cleaning out the house I found all the ‘secrets’ between him and my mom. I came from a drunken encounter at a bar, and they “had to” get married. I’m an ‘oops.’

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Today is difficult.?

Maybe my journey will open your eyes to something or anything. Learn from it.? Do something. Be better. Help others to be better. We're all a community, and nothing else should matter. Lately it's exhausting.

I came from nothing. ?

From nothing I made something.?

And I’m not done yet.

Happy Father’s Day.

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Keep going.

"In my career, I’ve had the Black community tell me to ‘piss*off’ and I agree - I get it. I can’t assume to be joyfully and eagerly invited in on something that my ancestors participated in and I’m still trying to understand so much of it. But it’s for damn sure I want to be invited in ..... I want to do something - what is it? What. I’m a bit shy in the approach on the subject; the titles I had in my career don’t mean a thing and I didn't have much input at all anyway. Frankly, most of my ideas dismissed. It’s my insecurity; my ignorance of the generational suffering within the Black community. It's horrific. I'm sincere but surrounded by fakes and FOMOs. How would anyone truly know me versus them? Anyway, I'll keep going - it's part of the plan." Judith Frushour-dimynmind podcast Summer 2024-to be announced.

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