When the abuse first started, my father had gotten remarried to my first stepmother. We definitely did not get along in any way, shape or form. One of the first memories I have was when a friend and I were playing with snow outside of the high rise he lived in on the base. We were about 7 years old at the time and we were just kids mesmerized by big chunks of snow. So, we were bringing snow into the building and taking it into the bathroom and melting it in the sink. Nothing serious in the eyes of a child, just seeing what happens to snow when you put hot water on it. Well, someone called the Military Police for what we were doing and they showed up to the high rise and they called our parents. While the M.P.'s were asking our name, I told them mine and they said are you so and so's son? As I said yes, I heard the M.P.'s say, 'oh shit, we feel sorry for you'. Of course I was scared, but didn't think anything of it really because this was about to be an introduction into an entirely new world. We were escorted up to my friends apartment and I don't recall his parents really caring, but my father got called at his job and had to come to the apartment. All I remember is sitting at their kitchen table facing the front door when he walked in and i got a big military boot right to my chest knocking me backwards out of the chair. You have to know, i was about 80 pounds at this time and my father was easily 6 feet tall and about 240 pounds. Then I remember being yanked up and dragged out of the high rise and taken home. I don't recall anything else happening other than being grounded after we got home.
The next event in our exciting story takes place after I was supposed to be grounded and I was outside throwing a ball against the wall by myself when my father and stepmother came home. Well, I figured I was going to be in trouble so I went in to get my punishment. My father acted like nothing was wrong, was just talking about whatever and I was thinking to myself cool, I'm not in trouble. My stepmom goes into the kitchen and starts washing dishes and I go to the restroom thinking everything is just fine and dandy. As soon as I opened the door from the bathroom, my father was standing there with a sadistic smile on his face waiting for me. A quick grab of the hair to pull me out of the bathroom to throw me into the living room. My father would bring this rubber/plastic material home from work that they stored tools in that was about 2 inches thick, heavy and flexible to get an added whip effect when you swung it at someone. I took one of those to the back as I stumbled into the kitchen where my mother was washing dishes and fell at her feet as she just kept washing dishes. I then proceeded to take a few punches and getting thrown into the refrigerator all the while my father yelling at me to fight back. I then remember being picked up and thrown back into the living room and taking a few more punches and being told to fight back. The last thing I remember is being thrown across the coffee table in the living room that had a small Christmas tree on it and knocking it over like a bowling ball. I don't remember much after that point, but he was very good about hitting places that didn't leave bruises or marks.
This will just be one of the many stories I can tell about my wonderful father and the abuse he inflicted on me whether it be physical, psychological or verbal. He excelled at doing guilt trips also which will be a story for another time. But to make everything okay in his eyes, on one of my birthdays when I was a teenager he gave me $20.00 bill and apologized for all the years of abuse. And now people can understand just a small part of why I haven't spoken to my father since 1998.
