for i am the one with the open wound from the knife he does not know he holds
today i had someone tell me that, some day in the near future, i would understand what it meant to have to sacrifice for ones job
it frustrates me that, without knowing me beyond hearing my name once, they felt the need to talk to me as if i dont understand sacrifice.
if anything this sacrifice is all to common for me and i know this type of sacrifice just as much, if not more than they do.
what did they sacrifice? 2 hours of their time commuting back and forth to work where they do because they didnt want to move their location, even when living alone. this is their choice, not sacrifice. to some extent i guess it could be seen that way. they take 2 hours out of their day.
i on the other hand am the sacrifice. its as if i am put on the table with a butchers knife, waiting to be cut open for the dinner that will be served to the gods of ancient times. out of 20 years of life my father as seen 1/3 of it. as an avid worker he chose what he believed to be honorable. giving his children the best life he can possibly give them keeps him miles and miles away for 5-6 days of the week. then he travels 5 hours in traffic to spend a mere 24 hours with us before he starts the cylce all over again. on many occasions he travels all over the world for weeks at a time and i am lucky to see him after two weeks for 24 hours or less.
this was his choice. and while he is sacrificing himself for me, how much can he sacrifice me, for i am the one with the open wound from the knife he doesnt know he holds. i believe that i am already cut and with only strings holding me together. and there is no remedy for this gash. time lost is never found again.
and while his sacrifice for me overshadows the fact that i am part of that sacrifice, it should not go unnoticed that i understand this concept because i am involved. this knife that he holds does not just make one wound but tiny little gashes that penetrate deep into the skin and flesh. it is the scars that make me who i am and it is the ones that do not heal that create my problems and insecurities.
i have never been asked if i was willing to be sacrificed or if it actually is beneficial. in many ways i bet it is but i do not know what it is like to have my father home for dinner every night or for him to come see me sing in the chorus at school. he was unable to attend the art show my photography was showcased in and he was lucky if he made my soccer games. many times he misses my birthday; and although he never forgets to call, its just not the same.
i see what its like to have a more present father. but i cant experience it for myself. i will never know what it feels like to have him say “have a good day at school” during the course of the week. and i will never know what its like to ask him for a ride home because i was staying after school for detention. he missed the first time i road a bike, the first time i went to a school dance, and the day i got a valentine from the boy i liked. he missed numerous halloweens, valentines days and sometimes even fathers day.
the worst part is that hes there. he isn’t a drunk that disappears for days or a man that ran away from a problem. he loves me and our family. he is respectable and has his flaws but is honorable and loving. because of this i cant hate that he chose to sacrifice being a bigger part of my life for providing me with more. instead i have to love from a distance and remind myself that i wouldn’t have the things that i do if he didn’t sacrifice his time with me
still can time be replaced by materials? is a wound left empty worse than one filled with artificial toxins?
so the next time sacrifice is mentioned, look around. and not at the faces but what is beneath that outer smile that seems so real because chances are someone is sacrificing their world.