My Dad was My Hero… But was he really?
My dad was my hero.
Like many kids who idolise their fathers, I grew up believing he was the best dad in the world. When we were out together, people often commented on how much I resembled him. My favourite facial features – my eyebrows, nose and lips – are just like his. But there was one thing that set us apart: my dad wore glasses, and I didn’t.
When my dad would go out and leave me home with my brother, I would deliberately sit as close to the TV as possible, hoping it would ruin my eyesight so I could wear glasses just like my dad.
My ‘dream’ did eventually come true. By the time I was eight, I needed glasses due to having poor eyesight. But I had been wrong about one thing: I thought my dad was my hero, but he never was.
I remember stumbling across an old photo many years ago. In it, seven-year-old me was at a party my dad had taken me to. I was wearing just a t-shirt and undies, sitting on the lap of one of my dad’s friends - a man I didn’t even remember meeting. In fact, I had no memory of attending that party at all. Maybe it was because I had simply forgotten, but sometimes I wonder if my memory is playing tricks on me and that photo never really existed…
However, there’s one incident that I still remember vividly, even after all these years. I was about nine and refused to take a shower after dinner one evening. My dad became furious and kicked me out of the apartment after taking off all my clothes. I stood at the door completely naked. My face was covered in tears as I banged on the door, begging to be let back in... I don’t remember how long it lasted. Perhaps it was only a few minutes, but it felt as if time had stopped and stretched into an eternity.
The next morning, while waiting for the elevator, I ran into my next-door neighbour, who was a few years older than me. I couldn't bring myself to say hi like I usually would... I felt so embarrassed and ashamed that I kept my head down the entire time.
“Most children would rather preserve the fantasy of a loving connection with their fathers and mothers, at all costs, even if it costs them their self-esteem. When you’re three or seven years old, it’s less frightening to think of yourself as an unlovable, disappointing screwup than to recognise the fact that you’re living with a monster.”
I was 14 years old, and it had been two years since my mum, brother, and I migrated to Australia from Hong Kong after my parents’ divorce. My mum and I decided to take a two-week holiday to visit my dad, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.
I was hoping for some loving father-daughter bonding time. But instead, my dad took me along with his two male friends to a nightclub – what they call a “yè zǒng huì” in Mandarin, which is a nicer term for an illegal karaoke sex club, in Dongguan, a city in Guangdong province.
Shortly after we entered the karaoke room, I heard a knock on the door, and a group of young girls dressed in revealing clothes walked in and lined up, waiting to be picked. I felt completely out of place, disgusted, and desperate to leave. But I was just 14, in an unfamiliar city, and the only person I knew was my dad – someone I couldn’t even trust.
I sat there in silence, watching my dad and his friends hug those girls while singing karaoke. I was confused, scared, and deeply disappointed. I didn’t know how to react. I remember one of his friends asking why he had brought his daughter, and I heard my dad reply, “she’ll get used to it”. The words cut deep. My eyes almost burst with tears, but I had to hold them back and pretend I was okay.
The worst was yet to come.
It was during that same trip that I found out my mum had gotten involved with drugs. My dad knew about it but did nothing to stop her. Instead, he saw it as an opportunity to scam her money for keeping her secret.
I can’t think of a worse father. He should have known how difficult life would be for his daughter with a mother battling addiction, but he simply didn’t care. I felt betrayed and abandoned… by my own father. That was also the last time I saw him, as I chose to cut all contact with him, despite him trying to reach out to me through my friend.
At age 14, I had to swallow my tears and come to terms with the fact that
My dad… was never my hero.
