I have somewhat vague memories of him being badly injured and having to go to the hospital as a teen on a few occasions. My middle brother lay for some time writhing in agony after he was jumped on. My big fat dad then proceeds to jump on my brother’s exposed back multiple times in hard leather bottomed shoes, until he is knocked off my middle brother by my oldest brother and they tussle. I saw the look on my brother’s face as he was cowering in fear and pain and in need of mercy, lying on his belly on the ground. My dad bull charged him, picked my brother up off his feet, and slammed him to the ground. My dad was about 270 pounds, my brother was probably 120 at the time. We were all at the dinner table when my dad found out.
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This time he had a neighborhood friend who moved to a different area code and he ran up an expensive long distance telephone bill by calling his friend without my parents knowledge. It was a just string after string of costly and embarrassing incidents for my parents. However, I did witness an incident that has been clearly burned in my memory:
Overall, I was not subject to harsh discipline or physical abuse by either parent. I would also be given the silent treatment if I hurt her feelings. A few times mom slapped me in the face, but this wasn’t because I was being bad, it was because I said something that insulted her. Mom disciplined me at a young age with spanks and slaps to the body and limbs. My earliest memories are of her chasing my older brothers around the house trying to discipline them with her “yardstick”. She never seemed happy, so I wanted so desperately to make her happy. It was just violence around her and emotional and verbal abuse. I have seen plenty of fights end in smashed items or damage to the house. He also threw a knife at her during this altercation. She avoided it but it hit the glass on our stove so hard it shattered into pieces. I remember seeing him take off his shoe and fling it at my mother.
Sometimes he was a violent, mean, angry drunk. I did not know when she was coming back and I have never liked being alone with my dad.ĭad was a problem drinker, in my earlier memories he would visit the bar two or three nights per week. There were times where my mother left the house as a result of an argument. I did feel very bad on one occasion when they started arguing with each other as to who was at fault for making me cry, but didn’t comfort me. They would continue fighting and not notice I was crying. There were plenty of times when their fighting caused me to start crying in front of them. There were plenty of times that my parents were using the silent treatment on each other and, as a consequence, no one would be speaking to me either. On most days of my childhood, there was a point when all happy feelings were instantly cut off and replaced with sad feelings due to a fight in front of me. It never seemed to matter in their heads one bit that their screaming at each other was incurring right in front of me, all the time. They would both be angry and hurtful to each other.
He verbally abused my mother incessantly for my entire childhood. He was authoritarian, aggressive, controlling, and miserable. When I was alone with her it was the best time ever, she was kind and nurturing.īut if my dad showed up, we all changed. She did completely give up her life for our family. If I expressed my feelings and they weren’t good, mom might get offended that we were not grateful for her, she might cry. Things were not always nice at our house, but it was extremely important that we always pretended they were.