When I finally get back home to my mother’s house I tell her what happened and of course she was furious. The next time she saw him she cursed him out and told him that he could not be alone around me anymore and that if he wanted to see me he would have to do it at her house where she could watch him. He of course storms out and I don’t see him for about a year or 3 and to be honest I was happy about it. I didn’t really like the man. When he did start to come over again I remember I used to hide under my bed because I was so afraid of him and my mother and sister would have to pull me from under the bed to see him but my mother always reminded me that she would be right there with me so I would be safe. She would always promise me that she would protect me and always be on me and my sister’s side. I of course believed her because she always showed that she was. For a while things got a little better with my father, he would be calmer and act like a regular human being and things would be civil, I would even spend some time with my aunt and cousin on his side of the family though they were always kind of weird. I even remember that on my either 9th or 10th birthday he bought me this nice little radio that played cassette tapes (I know cassette tapes but hey I was born in the late 80’s) and even have some real radio stations on it. I really loved that thing and it was the first thing he ever bought me that I actually liked. I was actually starting to warm up to him and even my mother liked it (she would use it while exercising). Things were fine for a few months but then one day my father comes over and a few minutes later I can hear arguing in the other room. My sister and I go to out to see what’s happening and I see my father pick up my radio and throw it to the ground and subsequently my radio is in pieces. I start to cry, my sister covers her ears, and the two of them are just screaming away at each other. She finally tells him to get out of her house and he slams the door and that’s the last I see of him for many, many years. I still don’t even really know what the argument was about but what I do know is this: he took something I loved, the only thing he got me that I really loved, and shattered it to pieces. He couldn’t think of me enough not to do that and that is when I was done with him (I’m just a kid mind you) and he was done with me. He couldn’t care less if I lived or died, whether he hated my mother or not he should have cared about me but he didn’t. He didn’t even care enough to pay child support; she had to go on welfare to support me and my sister and I know my sister wasn’t his child but I was (though I wish I wasn’t) and he had an obligation to me but he just didn’t care.
jsswolfe on Now to talk about me.. Steph on Now to talk about me.. Using Children As We… on My mothers family nathan on Loss of half a family