The Father, The Boy, and Me

God is my Father. He loves me.

He doesn't merely treat me like a son. I am His son. One of them, anyways. I'm a little child. Not a smart one, either. When He tells me to keep my hand away from the stove and slaps it a few times before I try it, I wait until I think He isn't looking, then give the scalding hotplate a high five. He then, standing over my shoulder, hugs me as I'm crying because it hurts. It really hurts. He brings me a cup of cold water. Not cool. Cold. There is almost as much pain in the healing as in the hurt, but not as much. I'm still crying, and he wraps me up in his chest, telling me that He will never leave me or forsake me. He tells me that I am His. He's never, never going anywhere.

Months pass by, and in different ways, these scenarios replay themselves over and over again, all in differing degrees of severity. He held me and loved me when I needed a cast on my arm when I rode down the hill on my bike too fast after He told me to slow down. He held me and loved me and cleaned me up after a night of throwing up because I ate all the cake and orange juice after He said to go to bed and drink water. He held me and loved me when I came home from school in tears because the kids called me "four-eyes."

God is my Father. He loves me.

One day, another boy moved into the neighborhood. By this time, I was old enough to make my own decisions, and I spent most of my time away from home. This new boy was different. There were cool kids at school, sure, but not like this one. He was indestructible. He was more athletic than anyone I had ever met. He was the best singer I had ever heard. Some said that he was about to sign a major record deal. He would debate with teachers in class and regularly make them look foolish. Strange, but nobody knew who his parents were. This boy had his own car. He had a lot of money. To top it all off, he started dating the most beautiful girl in the school and then shortly thereafter broke up with her. I heard somebody say that she was too boring for him. He was so good looking that even the guys in the school felt uncomfortable around him because they were all afraid he would steal their girlfriends.

For some reason, this boy started talking to me. He was really interesting. He always did exciting things. He would always push the envelope and would never get caught. Like I said, he was indestructible. He and I would go to the sports games at school, and almost immediately, I leapt to the top of the social ladder. Girls who I had crushes on paid attention to me, and I even got one to go out with me. This boy would coach me and tell me how to get exactly what I wanted. Funny thing was, I usually did. Of course I couldn't always get what I wanted, but that was because I hadn't listened to him well enough.

My father saw this boy after the boy dropped me off at home after a late night at the football game. He said, "Son, I am your father. I love you. I don't want you spending time with that boy. He's toxic." For the first time, I yelled at him. I yelled at my daddy. I told him that he had no idea what was right for me. All his advice left me a prudish geek who was the butt of every joke imaginable. I had finally found my ticket to the fast life. Then my father did something strange. He began to cry. He throat tightened and his voice cracked a little bit. He told me that I had hurt him. He told me that he is my father and he loves me. He never wants to see me in pain, but he thinks that this boy is not the kind of boy that will help his son. Not sure what to do, I walked out of the room without a word, leaving my father in the kitchen. Mom told me that he cried for awhile that night.

As time passed, I started spending less time at home and more time with the boy. It wasn't because I loved my father any less, it's just that I didn't want any repeats of that night. Along with the boy came the people that he attracted. I had a string of girlfriends, having more fun with them than I'd care to describe. It's not that I hated church, but when you're out until 5AM every Saturday night, the last thing you want to do is get up on three hours and go anywhere. Then we started clubbing. I wasn't 21, but the boy had the hookups. What an amazing place. Most of the things that I had wondered if you could find anywhere, I found them. For free. The boy would often refer to me as his main man. We were pretty tight.

One day I found a letter on my bed. It was from my mom. It was simple. All it said was that they miss me, they love me, and they want to see my heart get soft.

By that point, I was indifferent to them. I didn't need them. In fact, I was about ready to move out. The boy said that he needed a new roommate. His last one hadn't paid rent for like three months, and all in all, it was time for him to leave.

I was scheduled to move out on Monday, right after the weekend's festivities. It was going to be a banger too. The DJ for one of the parties we were going to on Friday had three #1 hits on the Billboard Top 100, and the boy told me that his old crew from back in the day was going to make the trip up, and it was going to be just like old times. He also told me that the cars were going to be full of shorties and the 'stuff'.

It was dark when the crew arrived that Friday afternoon. Strangely dark. Uncomfortably dark. When the boy went over to the first car and his old 'main man' stepped out of the car with the hottest women I had ever seen, I felt something change. There was a power that I had never felt before. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. It was strong. The cars got emptied, and I got introduced to the whole crew. I was really glad I hadn't brought my girl. She would have had a panic attack at the way that one of the brunettes was taking a liking to me. Of course, I was having the time of my life.

As expected, the party was off the chain--the most ridiculous party I'd ever been to in my whole life. The boy and his man were in the front seat, on the way home, somehow still completely sober. I wasn't drunk, but I was pretty buzzed.

Something entered the car. I felt it. It was icy and cold. This breath of damp, dark, rancid air blew past me and the mood changed instantly. The girl I was sitting next to me stopped talking got incredibly focused. I had no idea on what. The boy took a side street that I had no idea existed. Then they all started to laugh. It wasn't fun laughter. It was an ominous, filthy laughter. You know, the kind in the movies that everyone makes fun of? But it was for real. 

I tried to get out of the car. The doors were locked. The windows were locked. The laughter didn't stop. Until the car stopped. Then everything went silent. We were in the outskirts of the town. Nobody lived anywhere close to here. The boy's man opened my door. Then he yanked me out of my seat. He slammed me on the ground. I was trying to see straight after having my head slammed on the asphalt. He handcuffed me. He opened the trunk. It was full of chains. I struggled and writhed on the ground, trying to get free. I couldn't. I couldn't do it. The more I yelled, the more chains they put around my legs and arms so I couldn't move at all.

I wasn't able to hear everything, but as they were kicking my stomach and stomping on my hands and face, I heard the boy say things like, "I can't believe that fool ever thought I cared about him" and "He deserves every last part of this."

I started to cry. Not because of the pain. My body went numb long ago. I cried because I remembered my father. I remembered his hugs. I remembered his gentle words. I remembered when he taught me how to read. I remembered when he taught me how to play baseball. I remembered that he loved me. I had hated him. But he loved me. I hurt his heart. I hadn't cared. But he loved me.

By this time, I was bleeding profusely, and the kicking hadn't stopped. But something took me out of my stupor. I heard a voice. A man was running towards us. Who could be here at 5 in the morning? I thought it was another one of their friends here to kill me. I didn't expect to live the night. I had blood all over my head, streaming down my clothes.

I couldn't make out what this man was yelling. But the voice sounded strangely familiar. Then I placed it. It was the voice that said, "I'm your Father, and I love you." My daddy was here! He still loved me! Then the boy pulled a gun out of his jacket. The beating stopped, and they all focused their intense hatred towards my Father. There was a short exchange, and the gun fired. My head was reeling. The bullet hit his chest and he crumpled to the ground. They laughed and began thrashing me again. But my father was not finished. Though my eyes were almost swollen shut, I was able to manage one more glance up towards where my father had been shot.

God is my Father. He loves me. 

He walked behind the boy and whispered into his ear, "He is mine. Nobody touches my son." And with that he snapped the boy's neck, killing him instantly. The minions were foolish enough to think they could do anything at all to him. He disarmed them, and with his bare hands killed all of my attackers. He had enough energy to loosen my chains, then he collapsed.

I yelled for help, though I knew nobody could hear. Somehow, somewhere, someone must have heard the gunshot and called the ambulance; because one showed up, quickly took my father, and left me in the middle of the carnage, pondering what had just happened.

Days later, three, to be exact, he was still in the ICU. They said that the bullet had hit him right in the middle of his heart, forcing a quick surge of adrenaline, then excessive bleeding.

His heart was bleeding because of me.

They all left the room, but I, wrapped in my own casts and bandages, just wanted to be with him. He was sleeping for most of that afternoon. Then he woke up. He said, "Son, I'm your father, and I will always love you. You are more precious to me than my own life. I will never leave you, and I will never forsake you. There is nothing you will be able to do that will change that in the slightest of ways."

I wept for hours.

My father was officially declared as dead later that day, which lasted about 15 minutes. They gave him a shot of some experimental element that doesn't exist in nature, and was resuscitated minutes later.

God is my Father. He loves me. 

I'd love to say that it was all pretty and beautiful after that. It wasn't.

But I can tell you that seeing my dad give up his life for mine in that parking lot that dark morning has made it very difficult to doubt his love for me. If he would give up his life for me, how could I ever think that he wouldn't always want the very best for me? Even in the dark times.

God is my Father. He loves me. 

He's my only hope.

.DSN.