Be Your Child’s Number One Backer, Not Hater

This is the story of my father’s rage for having the bad luck of me as his daughter. I grew up in a Chinoy family back in the 80s. (Chinoy means Chinese-Filipino; we’re of Chinese ancestry but live in the Philippines). My father had a traditional view of women and their roles.

The day I was born, my father walked out of the hospital, shaking his head. He wanted a firstborn son but got me—a firstborn daughter. “What a shame,’ he said.

Right from the beginning, our relationship was doomed.

Yesterday, I stumbled across a YouTube video explaining the relationship between narcissistic fathers and their daughters. I do not want to throw mud at my father, but I have to say it plainly: he was verbally and emotionally abusive toward me.

The moment he laid his eyes on me, he love-hated me.

There are still days I cannot differentiate love vs. hate. But he’s dead now, and I’m in my 40s. I have escaped his clutches a long, long time ago.

When I was choosing a course for college, He said, “You have to do as I say. If you don’t take up Physical Therapy at UP (University of the Philippines), graduate, and work abroad, you will be a failure.”

“You will never succeed if you become a writer.”

I intentionally flunked the UP entrance exam to thwart his plan.

So he enrolled me in a women’s only college near our family-owned store. For him, it was a win-win. I could help out with the business while I finish my studies. But most importantly, he could watch over me like a hawk.

I enjoyed school because I saw it was a ticket out of my father’s prison. Although I did not take up a writerly course (Journalism, Mass Communication, English), I got a good deal with Psychology.

Four years later, I graduated with honors, but was my dad happy? He boasted about my high grades to his friends, but when job hunting season came, he poo-poohed every single job I got. Nothing was ever good enough.

I moved out of the house. The toxicity was killing me.

Eventually, I found a man who would love me for who I am. I married this man, and we now have kids. My son is nearing that age when he would pick a senior high school track. For his career, he wants to do something involving planes or engines. We will let him choose.

My other child is a girl. My precious daughter. She likes to draw. I told her, “You can choose what you want to do for work when you grow up.”

I promise to give my children what I did not have: Freedom. Respect. Unadulterated parental love.