Growing up with an abusive father…
The Sound of his car approaching the house is one of the scariest memories I have of my childhood.
“”Mom, dad’s home… ” I used to say to my mom in fear, as we both thought of the mood he’s going to be in.
If you ask me about my childhood, I would tell you I didn’t have a childhood, I would tell you I didn’t have a childhood It was just my Mother and I trying our hardest to survive each day.
Some days were good, while some days were hell on earth.
I didn’t know when the next slap was going to be, or when the next curse word was going to be used on me.
I was hardly seven years old.
I used to live in constant fear, fear of seeing my Mother get beaten up Fear of my Mother saving me from getting beaten which would eventually lead to her getting beaten.
Going to school was on of the happiness times of my children childhood, away from home, away from dad and his anger.
I didn’t have any sibling to share the pain with, I couldn’t tell my friends about it because all of them had good fathers, who actually deserved the title.
I grew up in a house where I just constantly saw my mother get yelled at or slapped.
I was sixteen when I tried to stop dad for the first time and got one of the most horrible beatings, ever.
We had gotten used to it by now, we thought we’d experienced the worst and it could only get better now. We couldn’t have been more wrong.
When I was 22, Dad told us he was getting married to some high-school teacher and was going to divorce mom. And kick us out of the house.
That was the first day of the rest of my life. I stopped studying, I started looking for jobs, the oddest jobs possible, I sold used books on the streets, I did all I could to make end meet.
But I believe in fate, and it had something written for me.
I was hired as a writer for a website, the salary wasn’t much but I gained a lot of experience.
I, soon, found a partner to start a business with.
I finally saw a way out a silver lining, we went from barely being able to afford public transportation to buying our third and fourth cars.
I still remember how it felt when I earned my first big cheque.
I hired a lawyer, took over the house kicked the other woman out.
After 24 painful years, the battle was finally over, my mom was proud of me and I had become something, a self-made man.
Growing up with an abusive father has taught me a lot of things.
I’m not a husband or father yet, nut when I get married, I’ll make sure my wife never sheds a single tear and that my kids have a friend in their dad and hot a tyrant.
I will make sure my wife is the happiness woman on this planet and that she only gets excited to see me and not afraid.
I will make sure I teach my kids the value of money, but not the way my dad “Taught” me.
I will make sure my family finds safety and protection in my arms, not the opposite.
Thanks, Dad. You’ve give me a prime example of someone.
I simply cannot and should not be in life.
