On Purpose

~Before~

On my fifth birthday, I got a baseball bat. My dad bought it for me and when I held it in my hands, my little green eyes widened so much my dad thought they would pop out of my head.
I looked at him and said, "It's mine?"
My mom looked as if she could snatch the bat right out of my hands and hit my dad with it.
"Yeah, son, be careful and don't use it in the house." My dad said with a pleased smirk on his unshaved face, When I looked at my mom, she nodded.
"Stay on the lawn."
When I got outside, I heard glass breaking, mom screaming at my dad. At the age of five with a real bat in your hand, you don't really care about that stuff as long as they're yelling at each other and not at you.
I took a swing and it nearly threw me. I caught my balance and gave it another go.
I glared right at the thing in front of me, mom's car. Her brand new one that she practically begged my dad for. I took one step back and exhaled. Just as I heard my mom say, "I can't take it anymore." I took the biggest swing of my life. The bat went flying out of my small hands. Everything went in slow motion. I watched the bat float in the air and right in my mom's passenger side window. The loud sound of glass breaking made my parents stop screaming at each other. My mom's head popped up from the living room window. Her face lost its color and so did mine at the moment.
My dad came rushing out and grabbed me by the shoulders, hard. He kept shaking me and turning me left and right, "Oliver, you alright?"
I couldn't speak, I didn't know what to say. Yes, I was okay, but when I heard my mom scream when she came outside, I wasn't anymore.
"My car!!" She screamed.
"Alice, screw the damn car, can you at least make sure your son is okay?" My dad shot at her, but if my mom heard him, she didn't pay him no mind. She ran to her car and for the first time in my five years on Earth, my mother, the woman I looked up to–fell to her knees in front of the broken window of her car and sobbed as if two detectives came to her door and told her I was dead and my body was found.
"Go inside." My dad nudged me toward the door of our house. I looked over my shoulder and watched my dad try to comfort my mother. He kept saying, "I'll pay for it, honey, calm down." But my mom kept crying.
I didn't understand her; if my dad said he would fix the problem, why would she still cry? Why didn't she thank him?
Now that I'm older, I knew it was because it wasn't my dad or the car's window she was mad at. It was me. I broke her window, I took away something precious to her and she wanted me to pay for it, not dad. My mom never treated me the same, even after Dad fixed her car. I never got her attention, because I didn't fix the problem I made.