In my young mind, my dad invented this dark and cold street. As a child, I had dreams and aspirations of demolishing this horrible place so no other parents could take up residence here. Forgive my tunnel thinking on this issue because as life would have it, this street existed LONG before my conception was even acted upon. I was reminded of this dismal place after reading Remember the Toothpaste by Damon, the writer of This May Concern You.
He asked readers to state their worst beat-downs they received at the hands of their parental units/guardians and to state what we did to deserve it. My story was too long to leave in the comments section...so here it is in blog form.
When my mother decided to go back to work, me and my sister were left to look after my heathen brother. Many fights ensued the minute my mother backed out the driveway. Today was no different, except this "fight" was between me and my sister. She's never played fair...just not her thing and has always had a problem with keeping her hands to herself. She felt entitled to lay hands on me and my brother but if we even attempted to retaliate, it was going down. How dare we defend ourselves against her? Don't ask me where that one-sided thinking came from but today was not the day. After some time was spent trying to hit her back, I semi-gave up because I had to pee.
I guess she felt I was chasing her since I had to pass her to get to the bathroom so she takes off and locks herself in the one place I need to be...the bathroom.
I'm far too old to take this "L" in life and piss all in my pants so I start getting angry. As a child, I had the temper of Incredible Hulk...actually all 3 of us did. We get it honest; my parents tempers are nothing to joke around with. My mom is more that vengeful/vindictive type of angry person, plotting on yo life while you sleep...my dad is the "snapped" kind of angry; real calm and then out the blue, catting off like he's smoked crack all his life. My temper resembled my fathers, my sisters temper, more so my mothers.
So I'm calmly knocking..."I gotta pee! Let me in!". She's still concerned about me trying to hit her so she yells out, "No! Pee on yoself!" This interaction takes place so long, it feels like I'll never be able to have kids in life because my bladder was full and now my uterus was being used to hold the toxic filled urine. I'm almost to the point of tears and I yell again, while hitting the door, "I gotta pee! Let me in!" Her simpleton ass still worried about getting hit, doesn't budge.
Now, this door to the bathroom was made of REAL wood, not that ply wood crap they are filling everyone's homes with these days. There was also a crushed glass like window at the top; you know the glass that you can't see through because it's smooth on one side and prickly on the other. Pretty much indestructible...remember those three words.
I think I felt a warm trickle start to hit my pants leg and this might have been what set off my rage...it was that or her opening the door a crack to laugh at me like my exploding bladder was a joke. I ran up to the door and did a Hulk Smash on it and as I looked up, I instantly became the sniveling, puny human Bruce Banner. This glass had taken many slams and NEVER broke but my fury caused it to spider crack...alll over. I guess my sister, seeing the severity of the situation, opened the door slowly, and she too had the face of fear. We were supposed to be staying out of trouble, watching the Heathen from Hell, and not killing each other but instead, had managed to destroy some shit we KNEW we was about to get the ass whooping of all time from.
I no longer had to pee...all I could do was cry.
That day, my dad seemed to come home even earlier than usual. Me and my sister looked so worried that he immediately knew we did something out of line. He took one look at the glass, asked who did it, then was off to get an estimate. That window pane was going to cost him $300 to replace. He sat us both down and talked about the importance of treating other people's stuff with respect. The conversation then focused on me and my temper. I was told that since I didn't know how to control it, he was going to help me out a little because what if that had been my sisters face or body I hit. I won't tell a lie, at that point, I was wishing it was but I quickly understood that my temper was to be locked away and never unleashed again. The fruitages of the holy spirit (mainly being slow to anger and self-control) were beat into me that evening.
$300 is my car note today and personally, I feel, a good chunk of change...20 years ago, it caused me to get the ass whooping of a lifetime. To this day, I ALWAYS think about not being able to sit on my ass for 2 weeks before I go cattywhompiss on anyone...