Chapter 3 Facade

I am still haunted by the emotional hours I spent next to my father’s deathbed. He deteriorated so quickly, from a strong, dominating man to a gaunt, helpless skeleton. But truly worse than witnessing his immense physical suffering was hearing him recount the details of his winding descent into avarice.

He said that he began with the best of intentions.

My father believed, with vehemence, that he was endowed by God to be the Patriarch of our family. His commitment to fulfill this divine role translated into strict religious practice for all of us. We gathered each morning at six around the kitchen table for family prayer and bible study. We spent four hours in church each week and absolutely never engaged in recreation or spent any money on the Sabbath. We prayed together over every meal, even in public under the curious stares of other restaurant patrons. I can still feel heat rushing to my face from the embarrassment I felt by our overt display of piety.

As a devout Christian, my father wept just speaking the name of Jesus. But outside religion, he was reliably callous and focused on only accomplishment and success. However, besides Jesus, Dad did have one other emotional trigger -- my musical performances. After singing and playing piano, I’d look first to my father, anxiously seeking his approval. Almost always, his cheeks were streaked with tears. That’s how I knew he loved me.

Jesus and music, those were my dad’s only soft spots when I was a kid. But in my early teens even that began to change.

Dad’s worship of Christ became intertwined with bitterness for immigrants, resentment of the homeless, and sharp condescension for nonbelievers. Then there were the guns and ammunition he stockpiled due to his terrible fear of robbers and marauders.

I was a studious little girl who revered New Testament parables, so I was perplexed when guns, taxes, and Jesus would somehow all be tied up together in one conspiratorial rant from my father.

With a scalding temper, Dad boiled over more quickly and more often with each passing year.

My father’s mantel as CEO of Tricera Oil Corporation was a responsibility I’ll never comprehend. As a youth I had no understanding of EBITDA forecasts or fossil fuel lobbies. I didn’t know how to compartmentalize spiritual values from professional ones.

Dad professed that he did what he must for his job and for our family.

Years later it still hurts to face the bruising bottom line. Dad had lost his soul.

I’d been a Daddy’s little girl since I was a toddler and I wanted to find the good in him. I needed to find good in him.

I’ve relived a single shining moment with my dad over and over again. I clutch onto it even now for comfort, like a worn-out childhood blanket.

It was one of those early mornings I’d disappeared into my Magic Forest during practice hour. Dad and his fury found me amongst the trees, but this singular time was different. Instead of shrinking in fear, I instinctively reached for his hand. “Daddy watch the sunrise with me,” I pleaded. Oh, he resisted at first, but I was fueled by ten-year-old persistence.

With my little hand nestled inside my father’s powerful grip, we stood side by side as glorious rays of light slowly painted the forest green. Immersed in a wild symphony of birdsong, Dad reached down to hug me. I could feel his tears against my face. My love for him overtook my entire little body -- I was shaking, laughing, and crying all at once.

It’s one of the most vivid memories of my entire lifetime.

But sadly for me that day marked the beginning of the end of the illusive fairytale, where it became increasingly more impossible to reach the height of my father’s expectations. Nothing I aspired to or achieved was good enough for him.

So in my mind I fervently tried to hold my father in that perfect light of sunrise. I tried to bend the truth, and pretend that my dad actually lived all those religious teachings he preached.

But with heartbreak, I slowly began to understand, my dad was a hypocrite.

Facade

I want to please you, never disappoint you

I want to please you, please you, please you

Secretly you confuse me, baffled by you hypocrisy

In Jesus’ name you are screaming

We need weaponry to let freedom ring

But I shine my own spark of the divine

Joy, peace, love and kindness

Are the fruits the Word says to live by

Your anger bubbles over

Power blending with fear

Then you speak His name with reverence

While your eyes are forming tears

Your words seem awfully near Him

Your heart selectively loves

And all those things you teach me about

The Holy realm above

Seem like a facade

Coy obsession with money, your silent but deadly priority

You scold me, then you ignore me

Mother sees but she’s sleeping

I hear her weeping

Still I shine my own spark of the Divine

My soul says something is wrong

But I’m too young to understand why

Your anger bubbles over

Power blending with fear

But then you speak His name with reverence

While your eyes are forming tears

Your words seem awfully near Him

But your heart selectively loves

And all those things you teach me about

The Holy realm above

Are just a facade

They’re just your facade

The story you tell yourself

The stories you tell yourself

You’re righteous you tell yourself

You’re chosen you tell yourself

You’re righteous you tell yourself

You’re chosen you tell yourself

The lies that you tell yourself

As your anger bubbles over

Power blending with fear

Then you speak His name with reverence

While your eyes are forming tears

Your words seem awfully near Him

Your heart selectively loves

And all those things you teach me about

The Holy realm above

Are just a facade

They’re just your facade

The story you tell yourself

The stories you tell yourself

You’re righteous you tell yourself

You’re chosen you tell yourself

The lies that you tell yourself to suit you

My young eyes see the truth

Beyond your facade