RULES were all I lived by. I grew up in a strict Christian home and nothing but the best was expected of me. Missing church was out of the question, unless I was terribly sick. And even then, my father, a pastor, would leave me with a passage in the Bible that I had to know by the time he came home from church. Even though a teenager, I never knew what it meant to ‘paint the town red’, or ‘have a ball’. I hardly had friends, as my father would often preach: “Show me your company and I’ll tell you who you are.” If my friends didn’t have that ‘spiritual glow’, I was forbidden to speak to them.

The word ‘boyfriend’ was never mentioned in our house, as my mother would insist that I must never “put boys before books.” As if it wasn’t enough that I attended a Christian high school, my parents enrolled me in Bible Studies for every afternoon after school. With so much spirituality and religion being forced down my throat, I started to feel as though I had stopped living and was merely existing just for the sake of my parents.

Being an only child only made matters worse. I had no one to talk to; to help ease the built-up tension I felt inside. Nothing was ever my choice: What my parents ordered, that I did. Television was restricted to the Christian channel, because my father believed that often people did ‘wicked’ things because they saw it on television. The only tunes I was allowed to sing or hum in the house were gospel ones. Any other would warrant a sermon from my dad, which, I must add, were often lengthy and excruciating to bear. I felt so lonely, burdened and boxed-in that I couldn’t wait to go off to college and leave my parents’ sanctuary.

I knew if my parents had their way, I would be attending a Christian college, so I never slacked with the books. I was determined to make the A-grade so that they’d have no choice but to send me to a higher college. College for me meant freedom, and that is exactly what I felt the day I left for college. Of course, the night before, I was lectured from Genesis to Revelations, but it was the first time in my life that I didn’t mind it at all, as I knew that for the next four years, I would be free from it all and finally start living my life. It’s not that I wanted to be reckless; I just wanted to be able to make a choice on my own, without fear that my parents would be right there ensuring that it had some religious touch to it.

And that’s how I met Alex. He had such an infectious smile, that I couldn’t help staring the first time I met him. I didn’t even realise that I was staring, until he came up to me to ask why I was staring at him. I didn’t know what to do; I had never had that experience of talking to a boy. But Alex must have sensed my quandary and broke the ice. He was so kind and funny that that meeting soon blossomed into a vey close friendship. Since we were both English Literature undergrads, we were like two peas in a pod in classes. We did almost everything together, that people soon became envious of our friendship.

But Alex was the first real friend that I had, and I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t tell him. I soon found out he felt the same way about me, and before we both actually realised what was happening between us, we found ourselves kissing one afternoon in the library. It was my first kiss, and though I was shy, it was so passionate. I’d never felt that way before. The friendship now turned into a relationship, and it was the best thing that was happening to me.

But Alex was a gentleman, and we both agreed that we wouldn’t ‘cross that line’ until we were married. I explained to him that I had a strict Christian background, and though I resented my parents for forcing morality on me, I thought it best for us to wait. I was stunned when Alex said that he had a similar upbringing. He said his father was as strict as they came, but that his father spent a lot of time on Christian missionaries.

On our first break from college, he invited me to his house to meet his parents, as his dad would be there for a few days, but I refused. I couldn’t take that risk; if my father found out that I was at a boy’s house, he would preach to me about “temptations of the flesh” until I was nauseated.

So, Alex understood. But enjoying freedom so much, I didn’t want to return home. So I made up an excuse for my parents and stayed on campus with other students that weren’t going home. I missed Alex a lot, and would have been glad to visit him, but I couldn’t risk it. It wasn’t that I was going to stay there, as Alex’s parents wouldn’t allow that either, but the mere mention of me visiting a boy’s home would have caused a ‘prayer-and-fast’ marathon in my home.

It went on like that for the next four years while I was at college. Alex would go home, and I would stay on campus. But it all came to an end when I graduated. College life was over and until I found a job, I would be stuck in my parents’ home again. But at least I was older now, so I wasn’t that much afraid to tell them I had a boyfriend, and to introduce him to them. So, when I told Alex that I wanted him to meet my parents and introduce him as my boyfriend, he was all the more excited, but said he had a better introduction for them.

Getting down on one knee, Alex asked me to be his wife. I was so excited that I could only motion an answer. Tears streamed from my face as Alex glided the ring on my finger. I couldn’t wait to take him home to my parents. I knew they would have been shocked, but somehow, I felt at ease. But this happiness was not to last much longer.

My dad was not at home when Alex and I arrived, but I couldn’t wait till he came, so I told my mom. Even though she was happy for me, she couldn’t resist right there and then questioning Alex about his upbringing. I was embarrassed, but Alex said he didn’t mind answering her questions. As my mom was giving Alex the third-degree in the kitchen, my dad came home. I told him I had some great news for him, and that there was someone special I wanted him to meet. I called out for my mom and Alex.

Imagine my horror when I introduced Alex to my father! They couldn’t help staring at each other, and I felt a sudden unease. I almost fainted when Alex said to my father: “Dad, what are you doing here?” My father didn’t answer; he just stood there staring, almost lost in thought. Alex screamed again: “Dad!” I couldn’t believe it! My fiancé was calling my father ‘dad’! My mother stood in disbelief; we were both speechless. And there it was revealed. My father, the strict pastor, was living a lie all this time; he had two wives and two kids. The man I knew as Ronald Parris, Alex knew as Roman Thomas. I was engaged to my brother; I was in love with my brother; I shared my first kiss with my brother.

I was hurt and disappointed. I felt lonely again. There was nothing there. All the years my father spent feeding the Bible to me, he was living a lie, and I was left with the most pain. I was lost. I couldn’t face Alex at that moment; I couldn’t face myself. I took off the engagement ring and placed it on the table. I felt abandoned and betrayed by the one person that I thought would never do it. He preached righteousness and truth every day I lived with him, and all the while he was making a mockery of his beliefs.

Alex was as hurt as I. He stared at the ring on the table and cried. He looked at our father with pure hate. It was the first time I had seen his eyes so angry. He walked out of the house, and I wasn’t sure how I should feel; whether I should be mad that my fiancé was hurt, or that he was my brother.

When Alex’s mother found out, she broke into tears. She, too, had trusted my father and believed in his e
very word. It was not long after that she divorced my dad and she and Alex moved away. I neither saw nor heard from him again, and a part of me really didn’t expect too.

I thought my mom would have done a similar thing, but instead, she stayed with my dad and just merely said to me, “The Bible teaches that one must forgive and forget as the Father would often forgive us and forget about our sins.” But I was hurt and I didn’t want to forgive my dad. And I don’t think I will ever forget what he did, but my mother said: “If you put a plaster long enough on a sore, it will heal.” And that’s exactly what she did: Covered it up and pretended it never happened.

My dad remained a pastor, and my mom never told of his deception. I wanted to expose my dad for the fraud he was, but in the process, I would have hurt my mom, so I kept the pastor’s secret too. I guess nothing wrong happens in a Christian home.