Forgive Me Father | J.hs

II.

TWO
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Growing up, Dahlia has often heard that a lot of her mother's qualities could be seen within herself. As a child, Dahlia was pleased to hear such a thing. Her mother was an eloquent woman who carried herself with poise and grace. She was very intelligent which a strong love for her religion. A loving wife to her husband, Dahlia's father. And a loving mother, sister, daughter and aunt as well.

Now though, as Dahlia had grown up, she was starting to see that maybe it was best if she didn't have so much in common with the woman who had given birth to her. It was actually preferred to be opposite.

Sunday family dinners were a tradition in Dahlia's family. Every Sunday morning she attended church and every Sunday evening she sat around the dining table with her parents and a few other close relatives of theirs for dinner.

Many nights Dahlia had been the main topic of conversation. Wether it be about her job or her hobbies or even what she had picked up from the pastor preaching on the day's sermon. She wouldn't say that she liked being the center of attention, but she had become so used to it to the point where dahlia didn't mind answering the burning questions.

"Sarah and that husband of hers sure do look fine together. I heard they were looking to buy a house since the baby is due pretty soon." Her aunt gossiped.

"They sure do look great together, don't they? There is absolutely nothing I love seeing more than a hard working, church going man settle down with a pure woman."

Dahlia could only smile. She didn't understand. Why couldn't they just be happy that two people had fallen in love and wanted to start a family together? Why did the man have to be hard working and church going and the woman pure for them to be even remotely acceptable in the eyes of her family?

"Dahlia never talks about marriage but we expect for her to find someone very soon." Her mother raised a perfectly arched brow, gazing over at her daughter.

"I'm focused on working." Dahlia clears her throat, placing her fork down on her plate. Her father snorts from his seat. Dahlia looks in his direction.

"If you find a good man you won't have to work. A good man expects for his wife to be just that, a wife."

"Wives can work dad. It's not 1965 anymore." Dahlia wants to say. But she doesn't.

"Your mother hasn't worked in fifteen years." He picks up his glass of water. Before taking a sip, he just has to make a final point. "A man isn't attracted to a woman who doesn't understand who she truly is."

Whatever that meant...

"Yes father." Dahlia says lightly. She had always addressed her parents in such a soft, submissive tone. Anything that would not result in her being punished for stepping out of line. Her family's home was built on religion and respect. And...sexism, misogyny and any other stigmas attached to radical Christians such as her parents. They were interesting people. Tiny crucifix's decorated many walls inside of their two story four bedroom home. Pictures of Jesus' portraits and n their walls, his brown skin painted over smoothly with a brush. The smell of incense and pine linger around the halls. Luckily, dahlia did not live with them anymore.

Growing up she remembered seeing her mother clean every night, make breakfast every morning. And sometimes even sit herself down to remove her father's shoes from his feet after a long days work. They were very traditional and strict. Dahlia was never allowed to play any sports in high school, associate with any males. She had one friend who had moved away sophmore year. So dahlia was alone for majority of her time in high school.