Father Figure — 2/24/22
I grew up without the convenience of a father figure. He never went out for cigarettes one day and never came back — rather, he worked night shifts at a semiconductor factory. As a kid, I was always fascinated by the quasi-secretive nature of his occupation. Secretive not in the sense that it will compromise national security, but secret enough to require every one to carry a radio-frequency identification badge on themselves whenever they were on company property.
It was for this reason that I felt shut off from my father. He was not there half of the time, and I resented him for it. Not in a deeply personal sense, but rather of the sense that when I was available to be wild and carefree on the weekends, my father was not there to reign me in and teach me how to be a man because D-shift at the factory is usually Thursday through Saturday nights.
My father was a man who valued hard work and cultivating his own orchard. A man who wanted nothing other than for his spouse and offspring to be as happy as he could make them. A man who valued heath and the beauty of being alive. I know this because I saw him stretch several times during my youth. However, now that hindsight is 20/20, I realize he likely did it because his area supervisor told him to do so during monthly meetings at the factory.
I was raised primarily by my mother and my father, though my father was not my father, but rather someone who took the role of a father-figure — he was a literal patriarch to me. I don’t know my biological father. He tried to get in touch with me once, but I rejected him completely for all of the pain he had caused me and my loved ones.
If development is attributed to nurture and nature, then my mother was responsible for my nurture. Is this, perhaps, the reason I am so drawn toward the feminine nature? God only knows. What I know myself is that the female must be revered. Ancient civilizations worshiped femininity. Not as a lonely loser — obsessively pining over a woman for nothing more than a dopamine release — but rather to acknowledge the gift that womankind bestows upon the people: the gift of life. The gift of preserving beauty. The gift of spiritual immortality. It is why the beautiful women are the ones that men want to procreate with. Beauty is God, and beauty is eternal, and beauty is everywhere righteous. Most importantly, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, therefore beauty standards are of the upmost importance.
What is the enemy of beauty? Ugliness. Ugliness must be cast out entirely. However, people look at ugliness similarly to beauty — in a objective matter rather than subjectively. This is wrong, because if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so shall ugliness be. If fat is beautiful and skinny is ugly, then what is the point in life? It’s merely nihilism. There always needs to be a balance. Why does black compliment white? Why does justice need to be represented by scales? Why is the conflict always good vs. evil?
Because God is real.
He always has been, yet we’ve refused to believe, for science has convinced us that faith is a bunch of nonsense and that time travel and moon landings are real. Well, to be quite honest, if time travel is real, why have miracles happened while we still await for a “true” prophet to tell us, “I come from the future.”
Alas, they will never come, for no such thing exists.
Perhaps Christ hasn’t returned because we are not ready for judgment. The world may be wicked and evil, but maybe, as of yet, it’s not THAT evil. That’s why I’m convinced Christ hasn’t come back. Or, maybe he did come back, and a warmongering nation killed him in a drone strike.
But really, where was I going with all of this? I drifted off into a stream of consciousness there thinking about my father. Nonetheless, you may understand my situation a little bit better after reading this. Or maybe not. What do I know?
