Saturday, October 30, 2010


My father's father was very abusive... I guess that is where he learned the behavior.  my dad was an amazing artist and had work in local museums at 14.  But that was too much work.

In general my dad never held a job, when he did it was not more than a month or two. The only thing he did was hunt and fish, which was a blessing because we would have starved if not.  We were on welfare, but most of our food was what he caught and killed.  Deer, rabbit, fish, chickens in our yard etc...

I remember one year, I was maybe 5, he brought home a deer a few days before christmas, and made me come outside and watch him take the knife, cut into its gut, slice it open and tear it's insides out.  I literally got sick.  I threw up so much my throat was raw, but that was not the worse part, he told me it was rudolph, so Santa would not be coming that year, I cried all night long.

Things like that amused him.  We lived across the street from a graveyard and I can remember many times he would command our dog to attack me (dog was mean, dad made him that way)  But dad was a sport about it, I don't think he really wanted me to get eaten, but when him and the guys were drunk and bored, it was entertainment for them.

So he would make me and my brothers come outside, the guys would all stand around laughing, he would give us a head start and then release the dog.  My brothers were younger and I always tried to drag them along with me, because the dog would bite.  So we would run to the graveyard, and climb up on the highest tombstone we could find.   After a few times, we settled on one headstone.  It was the highest in a close enough range for us to get there and it had a shorter stone right beside it that we could use for a step stool.  God, we would stay up there forever sometimes, until they got bored of watching us cry and the dog, up on his hind legs, propped against the stone barking, snarling teeth trying to get to us...

It is no wonder both of my brothers are alcoholics... hell you have to be to deal with this shit.  My dad was the type that thought facing your fear head on, cured it. 

He did shit to us, that I just shake my head at now and think he must have hated us, no way he loved us.  My brother cut his leg BAD one day on a metal fan, I mean you could see the white meat.  He held my brother down, got a needle and fishing line and while my little 7 yr old brother laid there screaming, he stuck the needle in my brother and started to sew him up...

Thankfully this was one of the times, my mom, knowing she would take a beating, stepped in, just to get him off my brother and give me time to sneak and call my granny for help and a ride to the hospital.  Thankfully he did not get but 4 or 5 stitches in, but still... my brother got real stiches at the hospital, but one night, before they were ready to come out, my dad decided he was in the mood to play doctor.  So, he let my  little brother, well MADE, my brother drink several of those old time "pony" beer Miller highlife.  Remember those, the short little bottles, looks like they were made for kids?  Well, after he got my brother drunk, he laid him down and took the stitches out, BUT they were not ready, his body had not "turned loose" of them yet and I remember them being like, stuck to his skin and his skin tearing some as my dad tore them out.  God he screamed again, considering how much my brother had drank, and being only 7, I think it was more fear he was screaming over rather than actual feeling pain.

My brother has a horrible scar to this day - partially from my dads initail "fishing line" stitches, and then from the damage when he tore them out before they were ready...

I guess I should hate my dad, but you know, I just really don't feel anything.  In truth, the night he was killed and I knew he was dead, I was 10, and it was about 11 days before christmas, I can remember exactly what I felt it was relief, and maybe even thankful


  1. No wondering why you were thankful. If a man like him died, I sitting in the other world would be just as thankful. I'm glad you actually have the courage to talk about a lot of things you have talked about. Take care.
    Hugs from India.

  2. Thanks for the sweet comment you left on our blog. Wow, as I read about your childhood I am heart broken for you! It takes a great deal of courage to have faced those types of challenges. I promise to give a little extra patients and love to my little brood. Plus we will send a little out there somewhere so you can have some too! Very best wishes!

  3. I am speechless. I don't know what to say. I felt like my heart stopped reading that, I gasped and covered my mouth, it's just so awful. Inhumane.

  4. I don't blame you for being relieved...