Stepping Stones

August 2004

Friday, March 03, 2006

 

Only once

I grew up pampered...
In the since that after a certain age, my parents never hit me for punishment. Now I am sure there were those bottom swats as a toddler to emphasize NO.
As a kid though, I was never spanked.
Matter of fact I was hit only once.

We had this small breakfast nook in our kitchen, off the main flow of traffic as you walked from the living room into the kitchen, you turned left and there was the fridge, stove etc... a right and you were at the kitchen table. The nook was divided from the living room, with a half wall the also served to create one side of the opening to enter the kitchen, the wall behind the fridge handled the other side. It was here I made my stand.

My mom was seated at the table at the time while I stood in the doorway, and we were heatedly arguing something. Basically she was saying No and I was stating my case. The arguement was going badly. I was frustrated, mad, pissed off and thought I was right. It was then I saw that the argument was lost, and before I slunked away I was going to take one final parting shot to ensure my point was made. I would be a force to be reckoned with.

I loaded, and fired.

At this moment, the moment the shot was let loose, that is when my father was stepping by me to get into the kitchen and see what this commotion was about.

The shot came out clean and clear.

The word "BITCH!" was fired.
And just any bitch, this was a bitch to be reckoned with, this utterance of bitch was backed with spite and venom and the losing side of the argument. Bitch of piss and vinegar.

I remember a little

Tidbits that float through the gray haze as it were...

I remember the slow motion take of dad, as Bitch was said, he crossed in front of me.
He strectched his arms out.
Now I have to say here, that my father was a strong man, lifted weights every day I knew him. He was tall, lean and muscular.
His stretch connected. The back of his laned square on my nose.

It was laying on the floor I remeber next. Laying there in stunned disbelief, I had been hit, I had been hit by my father, I had been hit. He turned and looked down at me, while my nose started to bleed, and clamy said as if nothing had just happened.
"Don't ever call your mother a bitch.'
turned and went in the kitchen and got a drink. My mother sat there at the breakfast table, taking stares betweeen me and dad, not really sure what had just happened, not sure what was going to happen next...

I got up an moved on.

Now I still call my mom a bitch.. .we do so in fun and jesting. Never has it carried with it, the feelings it did that day. Never will it again.
Mom told me later, this was not her first time seeing the calm storm of my father when Bitch was uttered around him. It was one of those words that set him off. Used to degrade, demean and disrespect people he loved, and he would make a reckoning for it. NEver again was bitch said in front of dad with anything behind it ....

Lesson learned

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