The Man I Called Dad

Violent Streak

One thing i will always respect my mum for is the conversation we had when i was just five years old. Christmases were good wonderful even, me and my younger brother had a sofa each full of gifts and presents, constant laughter and smiling along with good food and family. I remember i stayed up very late with my mother and father to help wrap my brothers presents. My Dad uses near a whole role of sellotape around one of the gifts. (the next day it took my brother over 30 mins to unwrap!) Another vivid memory i have is the four of us sitting around the kitchen table deciding where we wanted to go for our once a month trip! As you would suspect me and my brother could not agree. The kitchen seems to be where alot of memories with my dad are...Me and my brother had an apron on mines red his blue, we were making a cake. This quickly turned into all of us banging pots making music (Phill Collins in the air tonight) On the surface we had a good life, My mum worked part time in a bar whilst my dad worked within the mechanics industry on very good money. A young happily married working class family. The older i got the more stories i was told that made me realise this was nothing more than a show for the rest of the world.

The conversation between me and my mum was on the floor by my bedroom door. She explained to me he wasn't my real daddy, but he loved me just the same. I dont recall my response, but a couple of weeks later my cousin from his side told me he wasn't my real dad. I couldn't wait to run home to my mum and tell her how proud of myself i was when my response to my cousin was 'i already know!'  Asisde from that the news did not change anything for me i still looked at him as my real dad. He was furious his name was on my birth certificate and had hoped that secret would be taken to the grave, luckily for me my mum disagreed. Around the age of 7 or 8 i knew my real dads name and began to write his surname as mines on school books, we sent letters and pictures to the last address my mum knew, but after no response i soon grew out of this.

It seems good things never lasted long and i would learn this lesson over and over again.   The first incident i can remember was to a teenager that lived on our street. A huge fire was started in the abandoned building next to our flat. We were being watched by our neighbour whilst our parents were out. My neighbour said to my brother after waking us up in a panic 'grab your shoes!' My brother took this very literal and grabbed every pair of shoes he owned before we raced down stairs and outside to safety. My Dad picked me up the look of relief on their faces to see us when they pulled up was apparent. Loads of people were around. my Dad walked round to the back garden bringing one of the teenage boys with him (still with me in his arms) he grabbed him by the throat with his free arm screaming and shouting in his face. This was only the beginning.

As a child i was always called nosy, the child that never wanted to miss out. I remember having a funny feeling, so i got out of bed and headed into the lounge to see what all the commotion was about. My father was towering over my mum as she cowered on the sofa. I ran and sat on her lap asif to protect her, but this did not stop him. My mum carried me into her bedroom in an attempt to keep me away from my now unrecognisable Dad. He followed us into the room he grabbed me by the neck and held me there as he continued to lay fists into my mother...everything kind of blacks out after that. One thing was for sure though he never stepped foot through our front door again.  The next day i was taken to the doctors due to the red marks all over my neck, my mum was so sad. Unfortunatley i dont rememeber meeting with the doctor i just recall the walk there.

It seems as though this violent streak was always with him, i grew to see him have many fights and outbursts. In our teenage years my brother had to pull him off his new girlfriend, but we will get to that later.