For Criticizing My Father'Criticizing' is not a strong enough word. Neither is 'nitpicking' or 'judging.' When she would talk about my father's 'faults,' a look of disgust equivalent to someone swallowing rotted food would overcome her features. She said he had oily skin, too big of a nose, was too short. She hated the way he walked, the sound of his voice. His hair was too curly, his skin too dark. She would make herself hideous mocking him with a bitterness unlike any I've ever seen. This is a man who loved her more than anything in this world, a man who gave her his livelihood and his dignity, a man who drew beautiful artwork with her as the subject, who never said one bad thing about her, as much as she abused him.
She warned me not to be with a man who wasn't perfectly beautiful in every way, or I would end up like her, bitter and dissatisfied with the 'wrong choice' she'd made. She hated every feature of his I had and told me that I was lucky I had her genes to balance out the ugliness. How dare she have said those things about my father, forced me to listen to them, forced my father to hear it? That he had tainted the child HE wanted with his defective genetics? That he should kiss her feet for making me decent looking? When she didn't even want a child and aborted two before me?
I hate you mother for haunting me to this day. I hate you because now I look at the man I love with those same critical eyes to anticipate what you will tell me is wrong with him, so I can have a comeback ready for you, so I can be ready to hurt as I have to hear those hateful words all over again, and this time you'll be talking about my boyfriend. But this time, I won't let you get away with it.