Today is my father’s birthday, the first since his death on September 21, 2011. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how I feel right now. When he died we weren’t on speaking terms, I’d decided that I no longer had to put up with his abusive behavior. Even though he’d had one, possibly even two strokes, I wasn’t able to chalk up his mean and hurtful behavior to this illness.
Everytime he yelled at me, it was as if I were being transported through some kind of a time portal. Instead of being the married mother of three that I actually was, I instantly became his daughter. The person who carried the blame for every problem in our family; the only person who looked this towering retired police captain in the eyes, and dared to say the words fuck you. Of course, it laid to a knock down drag out fight in the space between the kitchen and family room of my parents’ house; when it came to the fights my father and I had, or rather the times he decided to practice several of the methods that have been portrayed on A Thousand Ways to Die, this particular incident was more a long the lines of a boxer performing a round of shadow boxing. However, I did manage to channel The Karate Kid/em>, and pull off one of those Mr. Miyagi kicks to his knee, although it was much less graceful. In fact, that incident barely makes my radar.The incidents his yelling triggered were much more vile.
While the times when my father would yell at me were really annoying and often left me thinking that my dad was an ass, they were tolerable. Admittedly, they didn’t become tolerable until I’d been out of his house for about a dozen years. My tolerance level for his outrageous, abusive &often arrogant behavior didn’t begin to wane, until my spouse made the idiotic decision to rent a house that was only four houses away from him. I’m not really sure what part of
I don’t EVER want to move back to my hometown. If for some strange reason I do end up living in the same town as my father, I want to live on the other side of the county !!!!
If it wasn’t bad enough that I lived 4 houses away, on the same fucking side of the street as him even, I began to have night terrors. Yes, I had had them before I moved to my own personal hell (or at the very least purgatory ), but they didn’t become a part of my regular sleep routine until I was trapped as his neighbor. If I saw or spoke to him it was a fair presumption that that night was going to be filled with nightmares of him chasing me around trying to kill me.
More to come later, it’s too painful to keep writing about it right now.