Tonight I’m hiding out. It’s a bizarre story, however, all too familiar when I think back to my childhood. This afternoon, I went out upstate to enjoy the beautiful weather and go out to a café and have lunch. I stopped by antique stores and just sat down to people watch. There was a cool breeze and I really didn’t think anything could go wrong. Everyone was out and about, in flip flops and wearing their casual clothes. Couples were hand-in-hand and other people were walking their little dogs enjoying the end of the August weather.
I arrived home around 5pm. My parents live underneath my apartment. I have to go through the house in order to get to my place- which was never a problem…until today.
“Why da fug’ did ya leave the damn doors open?” My father says, in this 'already been sitting there stewing' type of tone.
“Huh?” I said, walking in with Madelene and trying to make my way up to my apartment.
“Some guy came in here looking for someone else! You’z gotta leave dat’ fuggin’ door closed yanno? You wannus’ to get killed?”
At this point, I don’t know which would be a better option. I’m very upset that he insinuated that I left the door opened, and almost scared that he had an outburst like this. My father and I are usually best friends. We never, ever fight. We always see things eye-to-eye and usually laugh our butts off talking about ridiculous things. Today was a sad day for me. My best friend turned on me. I was shocked.
In anger, I erupted to this mighty powerful man, “Are you fuggin’ blaming me for not locking the door?” I said this, because I knew that I didn’t leave the main door open. I know this for a fact ever since the FBI came busting in our house to take my father and mother away for racketeering.
My father looked at me, started shaking because I have never once in my entire life spoke back to him in such anger. He started shaking and ran after me. Now, keep in mind this man is 300 + lbs. He’s fast as hell and could outrun anyone at anytime. A few years back, he has taken on 6 men in our own building, breaking a few arms and sending them to the ER. He is one strong Italian gumba.
I ran. I ran fast. I booked it all the way down the corridor of the house and then outside to the backyard. Then, I booked it into my SUV and drove away. I got away. I went to a “safe place” ---and I am fine.
It made me realize a lot of things about myself. My father has always terrorized me as a young child. For “kicks”, he would grind his teeth and make them bleed, then run after me. When I would cry at night at the age of 3 years old, he would run over to my crib and break the legs. My mother would always come running over to comfort and protect me.
At 4 years old, I witnessed my father pulling out a gun on some utility guy in his own house making him beg for his life. My childhood was traumatic---yet I never knew it until today.
Why am I writing about this? I guess I realize that my father has some major issues that he has brought down to me. I’m really upset, angry, frustrated, yet I forgive him after all he has done.
Images that stuck in my head, such as his grueling stories about a butcher shop and a poor man going through the meat shredder. He’s not too proud to boast about those stories. If he didn’t want those stories revealed, he wouldn’t have wanted to tell them to my friends and me in the first place.
Thanks dad! I'll never forget it!
Stories about how he cut a dog’s head off and placed it on the seat of a garbage truck, just because he had a tiff with the waste management guy. Nice, huh? He’s also been known to kill off all the dogs in our neighborhood, just because he was scared that they would “attack us all”. One was a yellow lab called Bud. He was the only dog I fell in love with. He was harmless and had only three legs. He poisoned him with a cyanide meatball, because he was angry at our neighbors. The dog was practically ours, and we shared him with the neighbors. He knew how much me and my family loved this dog. It killed me to see Bud die and suffer because of someone killing him slowly. But that’s dad. That’s how he works. I found out the hard way that it was him and his friend.
I can’t tell you how many times I have heard these lines:
“I’ll cut ya’ heart out like a deer’s!
“I’ll tear ya’ ear off with my teeth ya rat bastard!”
“I’ll fuggin’ bash your brains in you sonovabitch’!!!”
These words were usually spoken to his close friends or acquaintances. When the FBI came to take him away, he stayed at a “country club” in Allendale, PA for six months. For me, it wasn’t long enough. My mother found such freedom she has never experienced in her whole life. She was a completely different woman----a free woman with a life of her own----with words of her own----without fear.
My sisters are probably reading this, but I have to ask them this… Which time have you seen mom happiest? When you think back to that time, you’ll see how “free” and “happy” she was, when she was alone for those six months. In fact, I remember her saying, “It wouldn’t be so bad if he went on vacation again.”
The man is verbally abusive to his family…and then some to those who aren’t his “blood”.
I don’t know when I’ll be back home.
In your opinion, don't you think this would affect any woman from being with a man? Maybe my therapist is right--maybe I should blame him for being gay. The only man I ever knew during my childhood scared me to death. I grew up with 3 older sisters and my mom. I was surrounded by nurturing women and a dad who wasn't there all the time---or just verbally abusive when he was in a bad mood. I guess it all makes sense now. I'll probably delete this post after I get hell from this, but it's out there...
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