If I were to come into possession of a single vial of truth serum, and as long as I could garner his consent in the matter (which would be pointless, I think, but otherwise fairly ethical), I would have my father take it. I’ve read quite a number of entries on this prompt today, and while there are a number of people who have questioned the moral and ethical ramifications about the premise of the prompt, there are others who’ve the same emotional attachment to it as I do in that they, too, would question a family member, a family member who has wronged them somehow.
I need no amount of therapy and meditative introspection to “show” me what I already know. My father’s backstory, a childhood of scars and hatred, made him into a man who was (and still is somewhat) incredibly hard to please, hyper-critical of everything, and waywardly cruel. Because of this, I am extremely self-conscious and sensitive to cruelties, and I think quite poorly and critically of myself and my own actions. It doesn’t help that I married a man who exacerbated it all even further.
I would ask my father what happened to him to make him this way, even if it would hurt to hear it. I would ask him about certain past incidences my mother slowly edged out of him after decades of her being uncertain. There was a reason why he trembled and grew teary-eyed and then had to shut off Sleepers. There was a reason why he and his half-brother shared a shudder while their mother was being tended to on her deathbed. There was a reason why my father would say the scariest, random things to me and my sisters, just out of the blue like that, even when he was in a good mood.
So many reasons, so many blank spaces.
I want to know these things. I do. I think it would help me understand him better.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Truth Serum.”