I was about 7 years old when I saw my father’s tattoo
I asked if it hurt, he said no, not even a little.
I examined his hand like it was a science project
It was a name, a four lettered name
But,
I didn’t know what it meant.
When I turned 9, I noticed his tattooed hand again
Now, being more curious I asked who “Beth” was
“Beth”, the name that made my mother flinch, whenever she would hear it
My father never answered me, I’m pretty sure he never did
But whenever I would say it, it was like I was torturing my mother in the most painful way.
I finally knew who she was, but I guess it was too late
My mother said she was just going to the market but she never came back.
I was 11 when I finally knew who Beth was
Turns out, she was my father’s first love
They got married and had children just like with my mother.
But my mother already left us
She left us with this woman whose name
is tattooed on my father’s hand together with their children’s names.
It hurt like hell when I realized that we were never his first.
We we’re never his one and only
And he was never our own.
That was the moment when I felt my world crashing down before my eyes,
Burying that one thing
I thought was my own
Burying the laughs
The smiles
The tears
The hugs
The kisses
The love
Burying everything I thought I had with MY family
With my mother,
With my brother,
With my sister,
With MY father
And his tattooed hand reminded me everyday that we will never be his first,
We will never be his one and only,
And he will never be our own.
I blamed him for everything,
I blamed him for so long.
I blamed him why my mama left,
I blamed him for not being his first.
I blamed him for everything,
Like everything was his fault…
But,
I also grew up loving him,
Thanking him,
And appreciating his love for us
That is when I learned to forgive him
To accept him,
and…
to love him again.
Yes, we may never be his first,
His one and only,
And he may never be our own,
But the love he has shown is more than enough
Now, his tattooed hand will be the one,
to remind me
that, being second is never wrong because I know that he will always love us,
as his first.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
I was about 7 years old when I saw my father’s tattoo
I asked if it hurt, he said no, not even a little.
I examined his hand like it was a science project
It was a name, a four lettered name
But,
I didn’t know what it meant.
When I turned 9, I noticed his tattooed hand again
Now, being more curious I asked who “Beth” was
“Beth”, the name that made my mother flinch, whenever she would hear it
My father never answered me, I’m pretty sure he never did
But whenever I would say it, it was like I was torturing my mother in the most painful way.
I finally knew who she was, but I guess it was too late
My mother said she was just going to the market but she never came back.
I was 11 when I finally knew who Beth was
Turns out, she was my father’s first love
They got married and had children just like with my mother.
But my mother already left us
She left us with this woman whose name
is tattooed on my father’s hand together with their children’s names.
It hurt like hell when I realized that we were never his first.
We we’re never his one and only
And he was never our own.
That was the moment when I felt my world crashing down before my eyes,
Burying that one thing
I thought was my own
Burying the laughs
The smiles
The tears
The hugs
The kisses
The love
Burying everything I thought I had with MY family
With my mother,
With my brother,
With my sister,
With MY father
And his tattooed hand reminded me everyday that we will never be his first,
We will never be his one and only,
And he will never be our own.
I blamed him for everything,
I blamed him for so long.
I blamed him why my mama left,
I blamed him for not being his first.
I blamed him for everything,
Like everything was his fault…
But,
I also grew up loving him,
Thanking him,
And appreciating his love for us
That is when I learned to forgive him
To accept him,
and…
to love him again.
Yes, we may never be his first,
His one and only,
And he may never be our own,
But the love he has shown is more than enough
Now, his tattooed hand will be the one,
to remind me
that, being second is never wrong because I know that he will always love us,
as his first.
