homecoming

It was early evening when I finally plucked up the courage to face the inevitable. ‘Come on, you’ve been planning this for ages, don’t chicken out now’ I silently pleaded with myself. I knocked on the door and as my father told me to go into his study, I could hear my heart beating so fast I feared it would give me away even before I spoke. With his characteristic gentle smile he told me to sit down. If only he had been the indifferent, distant, grumpy old man like some of my friend’s dads were, it would have been so much easier. As I stared blankly into his eyes I somehow felt that this gentle soul already suspected what I was about to say and that he had already made up his mind to respect my decision now that I was of age.

‘Dad’ I blurted out. ‘Dad’, the second time the words seemed to get stuck in my throat but I made a huge effort and continued - ‘Dad, I’m leaving home … I want my share of the inheritance now… and I’m out of here.’ Time seemed to stand still for an eternity. I knew from that moment that although I was still home, I was now home alone… and my thoughts drifted to when it had all started.

Ours was a happy family but when my mum died it left a scar in my heart. My father’s love, care and dedication somehow filled the void over time. However I never really dealt with the anger I felt towards God for my mother’s passing. It festered like a wound that was buried but not forgotten. I had the best of relationships with my Dad. He did not spoil me but neither did he deny me anything that was good for me. When I was sixteen I began to steadily lose my innocence. I can’t blame it on my friends although it would not have been possilbe without them. First it was stealing the apples from our neighbour’s garden, then it was rejecting and taunting those who were not part of our gang … but soon the apple that began to rot was not the one I took from old Mr Daniel’s tree but my very own heart. Then came the drugs ‘just for fun’. ‘Anyway, I know when to stop’ I always lied to myself.

My friends and I would gather together to hear stories about the happenings in the distant Greek towns collectively known as the decapolis. Next to our the close-knit Jewish village where everyone else’s business was also your own and of course you own business was also theirs, those places seemed the perfect place of freedom where one can do what one wanted. In these Greek cities there were exciting plays in their theatres, wild games in their amphitheatres and new philsophies to learn in their gymnasia. However what always caught our attention was the graphic sexual exploits of the guys who dared to venture there on business trips with their fathers. Eventually all these things went from head, to heart …and now it was time for action!

My father’s words interuppted my spiralling thoughts, ‘You may go my son, I will see to it that you are given your share of the inheritance immediately ….be blessed’. I felt a weight lift of my shoulders. I had made it. I was not a coward after all. My friends will see. I will join them in this new life in the decapolis cities where the wine flows abundantly and pleasure is there for the taking.

As I got up to leave the room I hardly dared look again into my father’s eyes. I knew that the insult I had heaped on him was beyond imagination. I knew that I was counting my father as good as dead - that same father who patiently taught me how to walk, who taught me how to love everyone and who dried my tears when not everyone loved me…. now I could see tears in his eyes. How I wished instead it would be anger, shouting and banging ..it would have been easier to endure than the silence of love.

It was late now. I walked out into the darkness of the night as I made my way to my friend’s house, unaware that a thicker darkness now covered my soul.