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LETTER TO MY FATHER
Sometimes, there are stories written with the hands…
Others, with the heart.
And some, like this one, with tears, my tears,
Do you remember Father,
my child’s heart, so fragile….
Do you remember Father
the ones of my brothers and sisters…
Do you remember Father
what our childhood was like….
Do you remember
Father the tears and cries echoing in the house…
Do you remember
Father our poor mother’s sobs, how her cries and tears
Pierced our hearts when you were
beating her……
Incredulous and
with tears running down their faces…
Do you remember
Father the frozen sidewalks where I would flee barefooted,
To get the
policemen to calm you down…when they left, do you remember
The lump in my
stomach and how you would go after a boy not even
Five years old… after my
brothers, babies yet, and my sisters so afraid….
In the
cupboards while you were sobering up and stopped being violent…
Do you remember
Father hitting our mother with your fists and kicking her,
God help her,
her who had to serve you the king of fathers and her six
Cherished
children…
Supposedly a
nervous breakdown…and when me, my older sister and the one
Younger than me, were sent to a farm in
Louiseville…..
The frequent
whippings that I got, without reasons, and my sisters crying…
Do you remember
Father our mother’s heartbreak when some social workers took
Away her three
youngest ones…her little angels, whose little hearts
Had been broken for always by
your violence and your drinking…
Do you remember
Father your own mother, our grandmother, coming to get us
And to bring us
back to Montreal.
Do you remember
Father your pretended healing when you returned home
With our mother…
do you remember not being healed…do you remember
That it started
all over again without any changes…
Do you remember
Father that children who see their mother crying and being beaten carry scars on
their hearts till death.
Do you remember
Father, when as a teenager of sixteen, I put six bullets
In my riffle
and placed it in a corner of my room because I wanted to
Do away with you that night…..
Yes Father, I
remember being so fed up with my life and in such despair since
My birth, that
I wanted to do away with you and to kill you that night…
A son who kills
his father… what a mess in one’s life… what nonsense…
That evening
when I was sixteen and you were angry with my mother again,
Did you know Father that if
you had not left when I hit the table
With my fist
and told you to leave the house, that I probably would
Have killed you with six bullets…..
One who could
stopped me.
Did you know
Father that after you left, our mother became a
Human being, not a beast….
Did you know
Father how much you destroyed our mother and us,
And that you
left my brothers, my sisters and me with scars still burning
To this day…
Did you know
Father, when mother died about twelve years ago, I cried
Because I had
lost her; but that my tears were also tears of joy for
Finely she was
free from this miserable life…
What you do not
know Father is that I felt pity and compassion for you…when I
Went to visit
you in the hospital, in February, while you were sick with cancer…
What you do not
know Father, is that I forgave you everything that night because
I do not have
the strength to condemn you.. I only have strength to love…
The strength
that God gave me…
Did you know
Father that I could not shed a tear when you died…
And maybe Father…it is because
I cried so much as a child…………………
No hard feelings Father…… I love you Mother……
André Julien, octobre
2001
Thank to Shana for translate for me this text.