Warning Strong language and viewer discretion is advised
As I grew older, I learned to tolerate his angry mood swings, I tried to listen and be a good daughter for him and my mom. What I didn’t see coming was his abilities to do even worse than before.
We were living the good life, in a ranch with two dogs, some chickens, and our cat. We had enough income to make an extra room for my grandparents, we had enough income to pay the bills and own our own home. I was around the age 13-15 my brother was around 7-9 years old. We noticed that our “father” would come home late, drunk, always arguing with our mother. My mom no longer scared of him, stood up to him and he learn to respect her. With me on the other hand, he hated, maybe still does. I don’t care though, because this event made me hate him, made me want to run away, this day I recognized that I don’t and will not have a “father.”
I was in the kitchen making hot pockets, for myself and Al (my younger brother) in one of those small conventional ovens. Mike comes in and ask
“Where my wallet?”
I answer “I have no idea.” While, I was taking out the hot pocket from the oven.
I guess he expected me to have an idea, or that my responsibility was to keep where he put his wallet. I have no idea what came over him, but he grabbed me by the hair, opens the oven door and put my head in there saying “You don’t talk to me like that you need to respect me.” As soon as he heard my mom car door slamming he pulls my head out and gives me a death stare and a warning not to tell my mom what just happened. I comply, I stayed strong gave my brother his hot pocket said hi to my mom, and went to my room to cry my eyes out. I never told my mom about this until years later when I finally decided to give this asshole a piece of my mind.