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BiMonthly blog challenge accepted with an occasional jaunt to the Banana Bar Challenge. |
I was 16, 5'4" and 110 lbs. My Dad was 41, 6'2" with an athletic build. He had been drinking, not the first time, nor the last, but that night he had come home very drunk, in a jealous rage. He was accusing Mom of flirting with a coworker. She denied the accusations but things got heated. My 13-year-old brother and I both came out of our rooms, waiting and listening. We had been here before. Dad could get violent sometimes when drinking. When we heard Mom scream we knew we had to act. He had pushed her onto the bed and was choking her. It took both of us to pull him off. My Mom was crying, my brother stayed with her, while I got Dad to come out into the living room. I kept talking, trying to reason with him, convince him that my mother was telling the truth because I was there to witness the event. He towered above me, looking down into my face and snarling "Liar, liar", coming closer and closer. His eyes were vacant like his mind had turned off and he was bearing down on me. I didn't think, I just slapped him, hard across the face. I hit him with everything I had and then stood there, arms at my sides, waiting to die. Because surely that was what was going to happen next. The weirdest thought ran through my mind as I waited, "I deserve to die, I should never have slapped him." Surprisingly, he staggered back until he hit the wall and then slid down into a crumpled heap, crying. It was all over after that. The next day I wanted to talk about it but my Mom wouldn't discuss it, her response was "Dad was drunk, he didn't mean it." My brother went along with her. Dad denied remembering anything about the night before. It simply didn't happen. It did happen and I know he remembered. I never really thought about my actions in terms of bravery. It was a turning point in my life and I think the braver thing happened afterward. I became the voice of dissent in my family. Believe it or not, everybody adored and loved my Dad. My Mom, my brother and much of our extended family and friends, all would excuse his abusive actions because "he was drunk and didn't know what he was doing". But he never stopped drinking and this was not an isolated incident. Similar events had happened before and after. I was actually lectured by my Mom once for being disrespectful and hurting Dad's feelings because I verbally and regularly insisted he needed professional help. He could beat the crap out of her, but I wasn't to hurt his feelings. I could not excuse his choice to drink. He never physically abused me; I think he was a little afraid of me. But I became his target. I could not and would not give him the adoration everyone else did. So we butted heads and it remained that way until he died. |
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