The Boy I Could Never Love

Daddy Dearest

Once when talking on the phone and laughing with the person on the other end, my father came over and slapped me, saying I shouldn't be laughing at his expense. Trying to recall the conversation, since it included nothing to do with him, left my mind blank after the shock of being hit.

It made him feel superior to slap my face, seeing this happen frequently. The man also yelled about whatever he felt needed yelling about. Sometimes making things up just to hear his voice of authority.

On several occasions when Mom got lucky enough to earn a few shifts on first, he kept me home to clean the house as I wasn't a great housekeeper. I said I could do it, not that I was good at it. I came under threat of another day home from school if I tried to sit or take a break. Often bringing him right in my face as he screamed that unless I needed to use the bathroom there existed no reason to quit. It saw I took long bathroom breaks, a habit I continue today when stressed.

The space I occupied looked like a hoarder's paradise. However, this did not come from the need of things. During many arguments I retreated to my room and used the piles to hide under when my father came to continue roaring at me. If I stood there he would holler in my face until I fell on the bed. Laying on my bed would bring my mattress flipped over with me on it. This he did under the guise of anger while looking for money my mother stashed under there. Either, my hiding saw him afraid of stepping on me as he could not see me, or he felt his job complete where I was already terrified and took the money without the hassle.

There existed no place for a hairbrush to live in my room, and in junior high into high school, brushing my hair felt like time I couldn't afford. Besides, looking for a brush afforded the opportunity to fight. Carrying all I could do just to get up and off to school, I often arrived late from sleeping in. My grades scraped by and many mornings the attendant, who married the cousin of my mother's family (small town problems), would hold me when I arrived in tears.

A bronze-gold frame with glass set inside hung on the kitchen wall of my home. After arriving from school to three screaming babies in need of diaper changes and being fed, my father laid into me for not doing my chores. In his rant, he swiped the counter, wiping his arm over the top in order to 'clean' it, knocking everything to the floor, breaking dishes, and creating more of a mess. Telling him I couldn't do it all by myself infuriated him. Removing the cabinet door-sized mirror off its peg, he proceeded to throw it at me.

As my slow-down took effect, it allowed me a chance to process and get out of the way. My father said I looked to see how smug I looked talking back to him, and that existed the reason he smashed it. (Not threw it at me, smashed it.) I looked yes, but seeing myself allowed me the chance to 'talk' to my reflection and calm down. The smile he hated so much came from gritting my teeth as not to say something the man would make me regret. After telling me to pick up the glass, he left for a walk, and I didn't see him for the rest of the evening.

*My rendition of events went unheard by my mother as a young girl who talked back and didn't want to do her chores. Where mom worked second shift, she never saw any of it. It was easier to believe the man she loved than the daughter inserting authority over a father who had never been there.

I confided in my friend, my girlfriend, and the guidance counselor at school about some of the things I witnessed, never painting the full picture.* However, my story gave enough for the counselor to call CPS, but my father knew how to sell his own bullshit. When the CPS worker arrived at my house, I had already been coached on why what I complained about wasn't that bad, and with both my parents against me, I believed that.

Likewise, this big guy with a port wine stain covering his face did little to dispel the fears of a small terrified girl. Never in my life did I see a purple person. All I wanted to do was ask about it, but his stiff demeanor, coupled with the thought that he was indeed the enemy, rendered me silent. This got me reprimanded for making the guy think I felt too nervous to talk to him.

I don't have a question but a vote would be nice.