Honor Thy Father and Mother

"The fourth commandment says to honor thy father and thy mother.  I guess you've overlooked that."

My father said this to me in February 2011. Coincidentally, it was about a month after I started a new job and two months before I moved out of my parents' house and in with my roommate. I know he knew change was brewing. He was losing his control over me and words like this were his way to try and guilt me into remaining the battered little bird. And you know what? He was on to something.

My dad always knew which of my buttons to push that would make me doubt my choices and my self worth. The "honor thy father and mother commandment" was quite possibly my biggest struggle when deciding to take control of my own life. How do I essentially turn my back on the two people who gave me life, put a roof over my head, food on the table, and countless luxuries most kids would only dream of? This commandment means to put them above my own passions and wants and dreams, right? It means that I owe them my entire life, right?

Wrong.

To honor thy father and mother doesn't mean any of those things. To honor them means they have to honor you first. Sure, it's not in one of the ten commandments, but neither is honoring thy wife or husband. We all still need to honor one another in a family (or not family) or we cannot expect to be honored in return. To honor [to me] means to show respect and love for the other person. I wasn't being shown any respect yet I was being expected to make every minute of my day about my dad and mom. If I didn't bring home a bottle of vodka for my dad, I was chastised because he was out, and I should've checked ahead of time. I was a bad daughter if I didn't sit out on the porch every night with him while he drank his minimum of 4 "cocktails" and smoked his cigars. To my dad, that was honoring him. (Nevermind the fact that I have asthma and was a 25 year old who yearned for a social life.)

Needless to say, when I got my own job on my own, not of his dictating, bought my own car that I chose (not leased like he insisted), and moved out on my own, he wasn't feeling very "honored". In fact, on the day I moved out, he stood in the hall of their house watching my friends and I move my stuff. He did not lift a single finger to help and he bitched the entire time about how the dogs were going to get out.

But I digress.

It wasn't until I met with a priest in 2011 that I realized in order for a mother and father to be honored, they must also honor their children. That it is OKAY as a child of an abusive parent, to walk away. You don't have to accept the abuse, but NEVER ever stop praying for them. If you must walk away to stop the abuse and better yourself, then walk away. I tried and did everything I could to fix things before making that choice. Once the choice was made, it wasn't easy. I prayed and cried many days and nights over the guilt I felt for "abandoning" them and not being the glue that held the family together anymore. However, I deserved and deserve to be honored and respected. Not just sometimes. All of the time. Each and every one of us do.

Never accept anything less.