IT’S HARD loving someone when everyone else hates them. Hate is a sensitive emotion; it’s not easily controlled; the slightest thing could turn it into wrath, envy and even jealously. People criticized me for searching for the good in a man they had already condemned as being unworthy or deserving of love. He abused the name he carried and his handsomeness of face. He controlled people with the wealth he had inherited. He exploited the vulnerable and was most cruel to those that showed any resistance to his commands.

So I understood their frustrations when I refused to be part of the mob that wanted him to pay for all his sins; but they refused to understand the love I had for the man I knew. He was never mean with me; I never saw a frown on his face. His embraces were always ones of care and affection. The forehead kiss I received every time I saw him is my most cherished memory.  I didn’t see the same man they saw every time I looked at him. While they saw a murderer, an abuser, a thief and a womanizer, I saw my father.

My father was Kevin Wentworth, son of the Wentworth’s that owned the largest and most successful fast-food chain in the Region. He was their only child and was spoiled for such a privilege. So when they died, he was the only beneficiary of millions of dollars in their bank accounts, and the two mansions they owned.

At just 22, he crumbled under the pressure of living up to his parents’ name and reputation. He thought himself too young for the responsibility ‘forced’ on him. He was mad at his parents for dying; he saw it as abandonment. They weren’t supposed to be at the restaurant the night they were killed; they were supposed to be at home with him, celebrating his birthday. But when one of the supervisors called complaining about a late delivery, my grandparents insisted that they had to go to the restaurant to solve the problem. They promised my father they’d be back no later than twenty-minutes; they never did. The restaurant got robbed that night and the robbers killed them.

So, my father felt abandoned. His parents left him to do business and never returned. They died on the night they were supposed to be with him celebrating his birthday. He never handled that well; I don’t believe he ever got over it. He never missed my birthdays; he forbade everyone from contacting him on that day. He devoted himself entirely to me for that day. I loved him most for that. So I couldn’t hate him when everyone else asked me to; I couldn’t turn my back on him. They were telling me about a man I never knew.

The restaurant business got too much for him, and by age 26, he had to sell it. It was never about the money to upkeep it; he just didn’t have the control it took; the control his parents had; the control that was required of him for being a Wentworth.

Losing the restaurant meant losing the source of his income.  That’s when he started hanging out with the wrong crowd, doing all the wrong things. He partied every night, picking up girls and throwing them away.

That’s how he met my mother. She was a dancer at one of the clubs he frequented.  My father said she was the first girl that showed him real love without looking for anything in return. So, within months of their meeting, they were married. He remembered the life he shared with my mother as some of the happiest days in his life, and the day my mother gave birth to me was the most special. But it soon became bittersweet. My mother developed complications after giving birth and never made it home from the hospital. She died the next week after I was born.

So he felt abandoned again. My dad thought it a curse that everyone he loved died. But throughout all that confusion, he managed to love me unconditionally. I knew my mother through the stories he told of her, and the many pictures he decorated the house with. The many people that felt wronged by my father never saw him cradle me while he read a bedtime story. They didn’t see the emotion in him whenever he took me for walks in the park. I never felt abandoned by him.

They were determined to have justice, but fate had the first say in my father’s life. My dad got sick and withered like a flower before my eyes. Every day I saw a piece of him go away; the light in his eyes fade. They were rejoicing, but I was dying along with him. On his dying bed, my father told me the story of his life and the things he did. I realized he was trying to get me to hate and judge him the way others did. He didn’t want me to feel abandoned the way he did when his parents and my mother died. If I hated him, then I would be glad to let him go. But I couldn’t hate him; I didn’t have it in me. Even at that point, I couldn’t see him as the monster he was painted to be.  He was selfless when it came to me; he’d rather me hate him than feel abandoned. I loved him the more for it.

But even an apology to all he had wronged wasn’t good enough for them. They wanted blood, revenge and justice. They rejoiced that he was ill; they saw it as an answered prayer. I understood their hatred and drive for vengeance on the man that ruined many aspects of their lives. My father was condemned by them all. He was not a perfect man, but he was my father.

My father died with much on his mind. Only I and servants that worked in the house attended his funeral. I buried my father on Father’s Day to honour him. I am not making excuses for the sins my father committed, neither am I condoning them. But I found it in my heart to forgive him long before he even asked me to. I guess my loving the man that was hated by most really shows a daughter’s love. Here’s to you, father!

Happy Father’s Day
– To my daddy in the grave
I saw that you were leaving, so I tried to hold on,

But it was too late for us, you were already gone.

Though you could not talk, you still tried to say goodbye,

I didn’t accept it at first, but now I understand why.

Daddy, if I had the power, you never would have died,

God knows if there was a way to keep you alive, I surely would have tried.

Oh daddy, I know it hasn’t been that long, it’s only been a short while,

But missing you so much, I’d give anything to see you smile.

You were not perfect, mistakes you did make,

But you were man enough to say sorry for the hearts that did break.

I know you loved me, you were never afraid to show it,

My heart bled when I lost you, God knows it.

It was heart rending for me daddy, watching you slip away,

If my love and care were all that were needed, you’d still be alive today.

Honestly daddy, moving on is so hard for me to do,

A day hasn’t passed that I don’t find myself lost without you.

They don’t understand why I loved you when they hated you,

They didn’t know that nothing for me you wouldn’t do.

But in the end I must admit, you were very brave,

For this I say, Happy Father’s Day to my daddy in the grave.