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The Day I Made a Xmas Tree With a Typewriter
After many years of all kinds of abuse, it wasn't a surprise that my stepfather was forcing me to eat the plate full of beans that sat in front of me, before I was allowed to leave the table.
I was hungry and as the saying goes, "My eyes were bigger than my stomache" and since I was the one who put the beans on my plate and we never wasted any food I sat and kept pecking away at the least favorite meal.
Soon, I began to feel a bit ill. Although I said that I didn't feel well, there was no letting up. I was headed for one of the most unpleasant, albeit proud moments I can remember in my childhood.
As he sat at the other end of the table, I again said I felt sick. He didn't care and wasn't going to let me waste even one bite of beans.
All of a sudden, up they came and poured out nearly covering the entire table. I of course felt much better, as I have a hard time even to this day digesting any kind of legumes. But, as the ocean wave of slightly digested beans crept closer to him his eyes widened and he said, "Well I guess you really did feel sick".
It wasn't too long after that, that my mother finally started the separation and divorce.
He had been doing some ridiculous things to me for years, and I've worked diligently with many professionals over the years to learn how these things continued to effect me in my adult life.
200 Crunches alternating elbow touches to the knees, and 200 Football Leg Lifts of 6" off the floor in sets of 20 alternating between the 2 exercises while counting them out loud, and doing them correctly without losing count or I would have to start over was every night before being sent to bed by 730pm which didn't change to 8pm until I was 13.
Sneaking up behind me, grabbing me forcefully behind the neck and leading me out to the back yard before shoving me to the ground was a punishment I dreaded if he found even 1 weed I tried to pull and it had broken off below the surface.
So many things were a nightmare growing up.
One day after school, and after finishing whatever chores I was assigned, I was just seething with anger, resentment, and hatred for the asshole who claimed to be my father.
I was never allowed to listen to anything I wanted, let alone touch the stereo or TV. I looked around realizing I might have a little time before he appeared at home.
There sat his typewriter near the kitchen. I went over and with a deep breath, decided to attempt a bit of release by mimicking something I had seen on "The Shining". I plunked away at the keys over and over, repeating one sentence and created the pattern of a Xmas Tree in the center of the page. The words? Well, they weren't pretty. I repeated numerous times, "My Father Is A Fucking Asshole" until the Xmas tree was apparent.
I forgot about the piece of paper, and later that evening while my mother, half sister, me and my dad were eating dinner my dad dropped a bomb in the middle of the meal where no one usually talked.
He cleared his throat and asked, "Sheila do you know what Fuck means?"
My mother's eyes widened, everyone stopped chewing their food and after looking at him, then looking at me to see what would happen next? I felt a sudden massive surge of adrenaline as I realized I had forgotten that Xmas Tree in his typewriter.
I will never forget that dinner conversation and how much I hated the way he treated me and both my parents for never attempting to teach me the skills I would need to lead even a decent life.
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I was hungry and as the saying goes, "My eyes were bigger than my stomache" and since I was the one who put the beans on my plate and we never wasted any food I sat and kept pecking away at the least favorite meal.
Soon, I began to feel a bit ill. Although I said that I didn't feel well, there was no letting up. I was headed for one of the most unpleasant, albeit proud moments I can remember in my childhood.
As he sat at the other end of the table, I again said I felt sick. He didn't care and wasn't going to let me waste even one bite of beans.
All of a sudden, up they came and poured out nearly covering the entire table. I of course felt much better, as I have a hard time even to this day digesting any kind of legumes. But, as the ocean wave of slightly digested beans crept closer to him his eyes widened and he said, "Well I guess you really did feel sick".
It wasn't too long after that, that my mother finally started the separation and divorce.
He had been doing some ridiculous things to me for years, and I've worked diligently with many professionals over the years to learn how these things continued to effect me in my adult life.
200 Crunches alternating elbow touches to the knees, and 200 Football Leg Lifts of 6" off the floor in sets of 20 alternating between the 2 exercises while counting them out loud, and doing them correctly without losing count or I would have to start over was every night before being sent to bed by 730pm which didn't change to 8pm until I was 13.
Sneaking up behind me, grabbing me forcefully behind the neck and leading me out to the back yard before shoving me to the ground was a punishment I dreaded if he found even 1 weed I tried to pull and it had broken off below the surface.
So many things were a nightmare growing up.
One day after school, and after finishing whatever chores I was assigned, I was just seething with anger, resentment, and hatred for the asshole who claimed to be my father.
I was never allowed to listen to anything I wanted, let alone touch the stereo or TV. I looked around realizing I might have a little time before he appeared at home.
There sat his typewriter near the kitchen. I went over and with a deep breath, decided to attempt a bit of release by mimicking something I had seen on "The Shining". I plunked away at the keys over and over, repeating one sentence and created the pattern of a Xmas Tree in the center of the page. The words? Well, they weren't pretty. I repeated numerous times, "My Father Is A Fucking Asshole" until the Xmas tree was apparent.
I forgot about the piece of paper, and later that evening while my mother, half sister, me and my dad were eating dinner my dad dropped a bomb in the middle of the meal where no one usually talked.
He cleared his throat and asked, "Sheila do you know what Fuck means?"
My mother's eyes widened, everyone stopped chewing their food and after looking at him, then looking at me to see what would happen next? I felt a sudden massive surge of adrenaline as I realized I had forgotten that Xmas Tree in his typewriter.
I will never forget that dinner conversation and how much I hated the way he treated me and both my parents for never attempting to teach me the skills I would need to lead even a decent life.
© All Rights Reserved
