Hate Begets A Man

Hate Begets A Man

There were two things he hated most passionately – abortion and homosexuality. And because he was born so awesomely brilliant and had such extreme work ethics, he chased the profession of ethics, even as he chased his faith in God.

He found God in his early teens and graduated stellar from the College of Medicine. A celebrated doctor he became, a gynecologist during the day who was known to be rabidly pro-life. And at night, he and select others led a powerful lobby group steeped in Christian theodicy that warred against both abortion and homosexuals. It was their goal to convince the government to come down hard on both until people lived amongst people as pure and good, in the true image of God. They wanted death sentences for both “crimes”.

And one day, a young girl of thirteen who was raped was rushed to his hospital bleeding furiously. She had attempted to self-abort the three-month fetus in her womb. Her parents begged him to complete the abortion. But he bluntly refused. Instead, he proceeded to preach to and lecture them on why he believed all “innocent” life was precious and should be protected.

He said, “This child has committed no crime. Why should it die for what it knows nothing of?”

But they begged him and explained to him what harm their daughter having the baby would do to them as a family – a living disgrace, a definite ostracisation, a lifetime of misery. For their own at such a tender age, not only to be raped by her own uncle, the younger brother of her father, but to bear a child by him.

So he told them, “Don’t worry, I will keep her with me and tend her until she gives birth to the baby. Then I will take the baby as mine and send your child home to you. That way, no one would know that she was ever raped, neither was she pregnant and you, in turn, can forget you ever bore a child, since you will never see the child. The child will be mine.”

And so it was agreed.

It took her ten months to the day to return home, a teenager just as she had once been, with no sign that she had mothered a baby. And no one could see the internal scars she carried, a wounded heart, a bruised spirit, and a damaged soul. She covered it all with a charming smile, and hid the undying longing she had for her baby boy. A child she knew she would never see again. Since like her parents, she fully accepted that the aberration was a reminder of a sacrilege that should never be allowed to exist.

And so it also was that the baby was forgotten.

The years passed. The baby grew into a strapping young man amongst the other children of the doctor; the doctor who loved his biological children including the adopted boy as fiercely as he loved himself. His wife was the same as he, same mind and beliefs they both shared. They agreed that the child must know the circumstances of his birth, so he would grow to appreciate and protect the sanctity of life just as they did, while he received the full love that a child must get from his parents. And so they both brought up the boy like he was flesh of their flesh and bone of their bones.

More years passed. A happy family they grew to be, living strictly by the dictates of the bible.

And then, the doctor and his cohorts finally achieved what they wanted, even though it was not a full victory – 14 years in jail for homosexuality. It wasn’t exactly what they wanted as they had silently campaigned for a death sentence. But they would live “for now” with that as they campaigned behind the scenes for some kind of stiff penal punishment for abortion too.

Then one day, the boy he had adopted, now a doctor who had just completed his fellowship in adolescent psychiatry, came to him to express his gratitude.

And when he asked his son what he now intended to do with his double qualifications, the boy who was now a man replied, “I want to go into research.”

“Research?” The father was befuddled. “Why? You could make more money practicing as a psychiatrist in your own clinic while working at the teaching hospital.”

“I know. But I need to know the thinking of God. I need to understand why he creates things and yet condemns what he creates.”

His father was clearly confusion. “What?”

“Dad, I know you don’t do abortions and you condemn homosexuality, even wishing death on those who do both. And I know you do it in the name of God. But what I cannot understand is why you refused to help my birth mother abort me and now you condemn the man I have become.”

“The man you have become? I don’t condemn you. I love you like my own.”

“You love me because you do not know that I am gay.”

The doctor who hated in the name of and on behalf of God went silent. He stared, ashen-faced, at the boy he had adopted, who had become the man he celebrated.

There was silence.

And his son continued, “Why will God have stopped you from aborting me, when He knew that I was going to become homosexual?”

There was more silence from his father.

He continued, “If He hates me as a homosexual and wants the government to kill me for becoming what he created me to be, why didn’t he use you to kill me while I was not yet born?”


“Why did he create me in the first place?”


The father stared at the son he had adopted. The emotions were gargantuan. They roiled. And still he stayed silent, unable to speak.

“This is why I am going into research. I need to understand. I need to answer that question. How could the God of love and mercy and justice and fairness create me and still condemn me? Or is there something that goes wrong physiologically during birth that affects my sexual makeup or something that happens in the mind, which is coaxed or abetted by the environment during adolescence?”

And then, he reached over and took the hand of the man who had adopted him. The hands were clammy and trembling slightly, but they were not withdrawn in revulsion.

“Daddy, I know you have loved me as your child and not treated me differently from your own birth children and I want you to know that I understand if you can no longer love me the same way now that you know who I really am. Please do not ever think me ungrateful for how well you have raised me, by becoming what I am. Believe me, if there was any way I could have made myself not be what I am, I swear I would have done it. But there is no way. Daddy honestly, there is no way. I have tried and failed, tried and tried since I was eleven and realised I was different, but failed every time.”

Then he stopped, took in a deep breath and exhaled before he continued. This time, tears had dewed in his eyes. “Daddy, it is okay if you hate me now, but know that I will love you even after my dying day.”

And the father who adopted him as his own burst out in tears.

Written by Jude Idada

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I was 8 the very first time I prayed. I mean like really prayed. It wasn’t for lost crayons or primary school squabbles or anything. I had been having these


  1. Evans
    July 06, 22:25 Reply

    Wow…. This is wow!!!
    Thank you.

  2. Deji
    July 07, 09:05 Reply

    This is an Oscar winning material……… people!!!!

  3. Ethereal
    April 13, 14:10 Reply

    Utterly speechless @ want of what to say…

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