My Life

My Fathers

Alright. Part two.

My dad has been in the military since he was 17. That's the only life he knew. He grew up with a hard-ass dad as well, so it's kinda easy to see where he got his parenting methods.

Believe me, military style is not the way to raise two little girls.

My dad's homes were always very neat. Very clean. The rules were plenty and enforced with an iron fist. He was an angry man most of my life. I remember having to set the dinner table when I was young. Remembering being afraid, because if the table wasn't set perfectly, there would be consequences. The forks on the right, the spoons and knives on the left. The problem was that I hadn't fully memorized my rights and my lefts at such a young age. Punishment would usually be push-ups or flutter kicks or a hard kick or flick. These work-out punishments weren't normal, like ten or something. It was until he told us to stop. Sometimes he didn't, and we'd cry from the pain. If we stopped he'd yell or kick. Wall sits, too. I was a muscular little kid, to say the least. He'd always bring women into our lives to take care of us so he wouldn't have to. Various girlfriends, one even became fiancé. For five years. She was our rock, she protected us the best she could. But then they split up and he refused to let us talk to her or see her ever again. That's another story though.

When he didn't have girlfriends, that was the worst. He drank a lot. He worked a lot. But he was a mean drunk.
He not only physically abused us but he mentally abused us. Especially when we grew too old to be hit. He's a manipulative snake, but all my life I just wanted his love and approval.

I still love my father very much. He can be a good man and an even better father when he wants to be, but only when he's sober. But all my life I was afraid of him. To be honest, even though I'm 16 now and he's calmed down a lot, I'm still afraid. Don't tell him, but I'm still afraid.