Writings

Angry Man

"this morning, the community of Rockewell, Oklahoma, was shaken by the death of a beloved friend. Mister Scott Harper, the chairman of the city's bank, died this morning in his home from an apparent suicide. He was forty years old and he leaves behind a wife and two daughters. He will be missed."

My dad wasn't always the most stand-up guy in our community as the people like to toot him as.

In my childhood, he was often absent. Years later I found out why. He was having an affair with one of his employees.

I remember being twelve years old and finding my mom, my beautiful mom, crying on the bathroom floor. Mascara was running down her face and her breath smelled strongly of whiskey.

"Hey, you," Mom smiled and I came over to her. She was crumpled on the floor in velvet pajamas and black heels. She sniffled and asked "what're you awake for?"

"I heard arguing. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I heard more than arguing, but I was too afraid to admit it. Not afraid of her, afraid of my dad. The "all around stand-up guy."

He painted this pretty picture of a well-loved man and the woman who loved him standing beside him and two little girls trailing behind. People had hoped I'd take his place on day as chairwoman.

Mom discovered his secretary sneaking out of the back door wearing nothing but a bra and underwear.

When she confronted him about it, he asked her to leave his house. He didn't want her anymore.

Thank goodness my little sister wasn't home. She was at a sleepover with a friend. She didn't  have to hear the sound of glass breaking as my dad pushed my mom into a vase or when he "accidentally" tripped her down the stairs in a fit of anger.

She didn't have to see her mom get slapped in the face and called a whore.

that was the abuse I witnessed when I was twelve years old. My mom was hurt by the man she loved more than life itself.

But for the sake of her girls, she packed up her things and left. We drove off from that house and left an angry man inside.

I swore to myself that I wouldn't ever marry a man that had a temper.

And I didn't. I married the sweetest, most thoughtful guy. He really put my dad to shame.

My sons and my daughter will never know of an angry man.

Catherine Lacey has one thing wrong, for she is the woman who is well known for saying "if you're raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. you will find him even when he is not there. and if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house- well, you will go find one and invite him in!"

I grew up with an angry man in my house, but I didn't end up with one. My husband has never hurt me. Sure, we've had a few silly arguments but he has never once raised his voice at me or hit me.

My mom now lives in a nursing home. I'm no longer a twelve year old girl, but a sixty year old woman.

My oldest children, my sons, are now in their forties and have a child each, a boy and a girl. My daughter has just turned twenty-nine and is expecting a baby girl with her boyfriend.

I'm thankful every day for my husband. He's shown me what real love between spouses looks like. Even at sixty-three, he still brings me flowers and dances with me.

As the years go by, the grandchildren start coming over once they are elementary school age. They look forward to seeing Grandpa and Grandma everyday after school.

When my mom is on her deathbed, she looks over to me and tears are pooling in her eyes. "I wish your sister were here," she says.

"Me too, Mom," I respond.

A week later, she's buried beside my sister. They'll be together, until my time. Then we'll all be together.

Ten years later, we're reunited. Oh, what a joyous day it is.

I'm thankful for my husband.

I never would want an angry man in my home, either.