My father is a Bastard

My Dad Is A Real Bastard.

I feel strange talking
about myself like I’m some victim, when in truth, I’m
not. At least, not anymore. My father is a man who
rules by fear. Most of the time, things are okay. If you
disagree with him about minor issues, you are wrong
as simple as that. No discussion. He is right, you are
wrong because he knows what he’s talking about. Or,
if one of his friends had a similar experience, he
would consult them over his own family, therefore
his friend is right. But about certain things, he’ll
explode at the slightest provocation. He’s a man
whose failings in life translate into increased burden
for his family and friends around him.

You are on myaceworld

My mom cannot come up with simple good reason
why they got married. She in fact, refuses to
comment when asked. My father, in one of our few
discussions, told he he never wanted to marry my
mom let alone date her. It’s hard to sympathize with
him considering how great my mom is, and how
much **** she’s had to endure in 35 years of
marriage. My father once broke her wrist,
accidentally of course, early in their marriage. It was
during an altercation that arose when I mom told
him that she didn’t want to hang out with his friends
and drink. He made no attempt to ensure that she
ever had a good time when they dated. He always
wanted to do what he wanted to do. This arises at
holidays. We always had to see his family, but seeing
my mom’s was optional. His side of the family are
mostly boorish, racist, morons. I only really ever
connected with my aunts, who seemed reasonably
intelligent. It’s telling that all of my aunts, with the
exception of my dad’s sister, divorced their
husbands, my dad’s brothers. Perhaps my feelings
are skewed due to how much I despise the man, that
I lay some blame on his family.
One of his good traits was that he worked all of the
time to provide for us. For many years, things were
great. He made good money doing what he did, but it
was physically exhausting work. He had to drive to
many locations around town different days of the
week, sometime going to several locations a day to
manage stores. I appreciate the dedication he had to
us, trying to earn money for the family, but It does
not excuse his lack of ability as a dad.
He had no time for us (my siblings and I), mostly. My
sisters are 12, and 8 years older than I, and were
done with my dad long before the time I grew to hate
him. He’d come home, and take the stresses of the
day out on my mom. He’d ***** that dinner wasn’t
ready, the dishes were dirty, the house was a mess,
there wasn’t anything in the cupboard to eat, my toys
were everywhere, my mom was too fat, whatever was
on his mind. He came home at 5:30 P.M most of the
time.

You are on myaceworld

When I was 8-10, I would hide. I feared him so
greatly. He never hit me, but he would verbally abuse
me if I did wrong. Even If I never did wrong, I feared
that I had, and sought to escape his rage.
Around this time, my mom started working again.
She took a retail job to better help pay bills (we had
fallen on hard times). He was pissed about that,
angrily complaining that she now had an excuse for
not making dinner, blah blah blah. My mom got a lot
braver too. She no longer just took his verbal abuse,
she destroyed him in arguments and made him feel
like a jackass. One time, my dad snooped through
bills (that my mom typically paid with their shared
money. He never took and interest in helping around
the house, arguing his job and money were enough.)
and noticed that our phone bill was high. He has no
respect for privacy. He would snoop about in our
rooms to see if they were up to his standards. If they
weren’t he’d yell. Or he’d drink and yell. He has
opened my mail before too, purely by his reasoning
that I had left it laying around for a time, and
therefore it was his to open. He tries to stay
important in his family’s lives but forcing his way in,
as loudly and as fearfully as possible. I don’t
remember why the phone bill was like that, but he
had the day off of work, so he went to the bar and got
blasted. My mom and I went to see a movie after I
got out of school, and he had found out about the bill
then. When we got home, he was gone.
My mom rolled her eyes, knowing where he was. He
wasn’t much of a drinker, but when he did, he was a
bigger ******* than he was normally, and potentially
violent. He was gone, and gone, and gone, and he
came home about 10:00-ish at night, staggering and
glassy eyed. He yelled at me to go to my room, and
proceeded to make a long, loud, incoherent profanity
laced diatribe about my mom’s intelligence, and her
irresponsibility, blah blah blah.
My mom didn’t have a clue what he was talking
about, and tried to calm him down, a herculean task.
He drunkenly blurbed about the phone bill, and
repeated his attack. My mom tried to tell him why the
bill was so high but I don’t really know why. He
wouldn’t have it, but neither did she. She snapped,
and raged about his behavior. She confessed how
she always loathed him, how he pushed his children
away, and how he’ll be alone now, because she’s had
enough. He threatened her to stay, but she provoked
him to do something. He was too taken aback to do
anything. It was awfully brave of her to do this,
considering he was drunk. He never hit her to my
knowledge, apart from the arm-breaking mentioned
above. She stormed out, grabbed me, and took us to
my grandma’s (her mom’s) house. We stayed there
about 2 days until he pleaded her to come back. My
mom apparently felt sorry for him, despite my urging
that she not do it, and took him back. She stood up to
him ever since, and usually helped defuse any
situation he stupidly created. But, I never forgave him
for this.
He once enrolled me in a youth football program
despite the fact that I wasn’t athletically gifted, and
didn’t have any desire to play. I enjoyed art and
writing, and he discouraged this in favor of “manly”
activities like sports. I played for a season to appease
him, and quit. He was furious. He yelled and yelled,
calling me “******,” “pansy,” “chicken-****,”
amongst other charming epithets and refused to
speak to me afterwards. This was fine be me.

You are on myaceworld

We
didn’t speak for nearly a whole year, until my mom
intervened and made us apologize (though I wasn’t
sure why I had to apologize.) He often acknowledges
his verbal gaffes, but makes a half-assed attempt to
apologize; I have never once heard him say “I’m
sorry.” This does not excuse his verbal diarrhea.
He sparingly tried to make time with me when I was
young (this mostly stopped after I turned 12, after the
above incident), figuring after screwing up twice, the
third time’s gotta be a charm, right? I wasn’t much of
a typical manly-man in his eyes. I didn’t like half the
things he liked. He would suggest that we go do
things, and I would half-heartedly grin and nod to
appease him. I had to endure baseball games that I
didn’t care about, monster-truck rallies that made my
ears hurt, and a race that gave me sunburn. I
understand that some people never had fathers that
took them places, and I’m sorry for whining. But if
my dad had asked me what my interests were, what I
wanted to do, I’d be less bitter. He never payed any
attention to what I did after I confessed that I wanted
to be a writer when I grew up. He balked, and tried to
get me to join the military like he did (he’s a Vietnam
vet, a former Marine). I didn’t want to, and he
scorned me as a coward. We haven’t had much of a
relationship since. That was nearly ten years ago.
I’m 23 today, and live on my own. I moved out when I
was 18. I bought my own car, and leased my own
apartment on my own, despite my dad’s insistence
(not offering) that he help me. I refuse his help. I
don’t want to be beholden to him for anything. I
refuse to even allow him to take my car in to get
fixed, after my mom let slip that something was
wrong with it to him. I took it in and paid for it
myself. My dad called me an idiot, and jeering that
the mechanic fleeced me. No doubt he would have
painted himself a hero if he diagnosed the problem
and took it to one of his ‘buddies’ of dubious
mechanical skills.
I found that getting out on my own was good for me.
I’m a lot braver now that I’m self-sufficient. I feel
good about all of the small things I’ve accomplished
as I am about the big tasks. This didn’t happen when I
lived at home.
There was an altercation today, the day of this
posting. This is probably the reason I decided to post
this. I wanted to visit my mom to catch up. I greet my
father, make some idle chit-chat for a minute, but
then talk to my mom. He made a joke that wasn’t
funny, but I tried to pretend it was funny, and he got
mad. He made an insult at me, and looked away. This
is his cue that you shouldn’t press the issue further,
but I called him out on it and he, like he does
typically, got in my face. I was sarcastic to him, and
he wrung my neck and ripped my shirt. I looked him
in the eye never backed down, even as he threatened
to hit me. He shook with rage and spit at me. I egged
him on, congratulating him on his awesome
parenting skills and what a great relationship we had.
The entire time, he was trying to dominate me.

You are on myaceworld

He
wanted me to kowtow into submission like he always
does. No one has ever stood up to him before except
my mom. I didn’t let him scare me and held my
ground. My mom broke us up, and freaked out on
him to leave me alone. He yelled at her and got in her
face, and I got in his. I told him if he laid a hand on
my mom, I’d beat the **** out of him. He was silent
for a beat, but dismissed me, telling me I could leave,
and sat back down, fuming. I felt bad about even
saying anything at all to him, not for his sake mind
you, but for her. But it had to be said. I finally stood
up to the son of a *****, even if it took me twenty
years I still did it. It’s a horrible thing to ruin a simple
visit with my mom though. I offered to make it right
and take her out to lunch as my way of apologizing.
My dad instantly raged once more, and yelled at me
for apologizing to her and not to him, and threw a
lawn chair at me telling me to get out of his yard. I
walked out into the street and yelled at him that his
behavior is unbecoming of a parent and a husband. I
of course was being ‘cocky’ and he wanted to fight
me again. Not once did I feel scared. It was
exhilarating. My mom and I left to go to our lunch, all
while he was acting like a maniac in my parent’s front
yard.
The funny thing is, I hate hating him. I want a father,
but I can’t believe I have it with in me to forgive him,
after being burned so many times. I often looked on
with envy at my friends’ dads and how cool and
understanding they were. I was jealous of how much
fun they had with their dads, and how then didn’t get
scared looking him in the eye a certain way, or using
a certain tone of voice. They never blew up without
provocation, they never ruled with fear, and most
importantly, they never laid a hand on their children.
I often cried to myself that my family was the way it
was, and contemplated running away. But I could
never do that to my mom. I hate leaving her alone
with that monster, but she can stand her ground.

(C)al right reserved

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