Thanks Dad
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dad had his bare chest thrust out with his arms pulled back to make
him look bigger, stronger; it was about as useless as a lion's
mane, or a peacock's feathers.I don’t remember what I said exactly, but I remember his response to me, his first born son, the child he hadn’t seen grow up, the one who would carry on the family name. He said, “Get back to your room, bitch.” I tried to be witty because I was hurt. I wanted to be a smart-ass, and give him a piece of my mind, drop a real zinger on him that would let him know that I wasn’t someone to be messed with, that I wasn’t anybody’s bitch. But I was sixteen and scared of fighting. I said, “I’m not your bitch.” Then turned to go back to my room and hope my dad would pass out and the fight would be over and we could get some sleep.
Before I took three steps I felt his hand on my shoulder. Before I took the fourth I was on the floor, looking up at him. The left side of my face felt warm from where he punched me, my right ribs hurt from where he kicked me as a bonus I Love You.
What happened next was surprising, but living in harsh conditions, where phone calls to my family in California were prohibited because my dad didn’t like them, and long-distance charges were too much to pay, where the four of us kids would have to lay on our stomachs in front of the television so we had light to do our homework because the electric bill was to high, these things, endured and shared by two people, often times serve as a point of unity. Dennis and I had grown close in our hatred of the old man. That night I saw how close.
Dennis ran across the living room and left his feet like a linebacker. In an instant, the two of them were on the floor next to me. Dennis had his arms pinned under my dad and he was laying on top of him. He began screaming, “Don’t you ever hit my brother!” while he repeatedly head-butted my drunken father. Brother. I admit I hadn’t seen us that close, but he did, and he came to help. Maybe he thought I was coming to help him earlier, which I guess I was.
Dennis and I went to our rooms, packed our stuff, and climbed out my bedroom window. We walked down the now quiet two-lane road I’d traveled so many times before. Dennis told that he knew of a homeless shelter in Eugene, and that he’d been there before. He and my dad fought often. Juanita chose the bread-winner and a place to live over her oldest son during these innumerable fights, self-preservation over family.
As Dennis and I walked down that long road on that chilly September night, I silently ruminated on my summer in Oregon, my experience with my dad, and what I’d learned. It was clear that I would never have a dad, never have a man to give me paternal love, never have anyone to teach me how to be a man. But I’d still grow up and be a man eventually, it was inevitable. I made a commitment to myself that night that my future children would know their father.
The past doesn’t have to repeat itself. I have children of my own now, and they have a dad and a father. My dad taught me two things during my trip: what a right front quarter panel is, and the importance of a father in a child’s life. Thanks Dad.
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I think the descriptions in this story are so well placed and vivid. I loved the line in the opening paragraph
When the family which chose me divorced, my mother took me back, figuring that if I was going to come from a broken home it might as well be hers.
The story flowed really well from start to finish. I really enjoyed the description and examples of how the mind can forget things for survival purposes.
The writing really took me along for the ride. The descriptions really put faces and personalities to the characters. I very much enjoyed going along for that ride.
This may have been my favorite line in the story...
Before then I didn’t know what that piece of metal sitting above an automobile’s front tire was called, but now I know that it’s called a right front quarter-panel. My dad taught me that.
I don't really know why but it is a very powerful line for me.
Hey, I really enjoyed this piece! It's amazing how much a father...or a lacking a father..can effect your life. I have never really been able to pictures a sons point of view in the father son issue because it seems like every female I know has the same father that I do. I see that it is extremely difficult for both daughters and sons, but you can learn from the situation. Thank you for posting this, with a little work I think this could be an even better piece.
This is a bit of a run on sentence. You could separate the hot July day section and add a little more detail. How hot is it? Is it early July or late July? Is it humid?
I like how you continually use the Apollo reference after this point, but you don't really talk much about the lake. Were there any specific instances of swimming that could be added to the story?
I think these couple sentences need to be reworked a little bit. Slow down and try to throw in some more detail. Did you laugh at seasame street? Was there anything else to eat or did you just want the celery and peanut butter?
The next few paragraphs made me feel like I was being rushed. I wanted to read more about the character being on the football team, but then I was reading about something different. I felt like it skipped around a lot. It was all relevant to the story, but I would just like to see more detail
Ha! I loved this, it made me laugh.
Great ending! I loved the lesson here.
Thanks again for posting this, I really enjoyed it.