OLD DOGS,SAME TRICKS…

I grew up in a relatively violent household,where I automatically hated weekends!!I looked forward,to my father coming home from work,but that was short-lived.After the first two or so drinks,he had some time and the patience,to deal with us, but two drinks later and him and mother,would be at it again.They were vicious and we didn’t exist,in that time span.They were in their own world and we had to look for a safe haven,a place to hide from the noises,the assault om each other,the shouting and swearing…

It went on for years and I can’t remember a single weekend,without them being physically violent.Maybe,that was why,mother was so frustrated with me….?

When I was in standard 4(Grade 6)we moved two streets away,from the house,my youngest brother and I,saw the first light of day in.It was still in the same neighborhood,but the usual friends in the street,were out of reach now…

The families and friends,that knèw about my parents fights,that knèw about our struggles,with minimal income and the fact,that my father would rather drink his weekends away,than to see to it,that we’re better off.

He didn’t mow the lawn,like other fathers did and he didn’t wash his own car(during the short time,we had one,before he totalled it,in an accident,while heavily intoxicated)He didn’t take out the garbage,he didn’t help around the house….he went to work and back and he expected his kingdom,to be run smoothly.He didn’t care,about the knee high tall grass,we could get lost in,in that big yard we had…

Things weren’t different in the “new” house.The only thing that we got extra,was a landline phone.He didn’t play with us,or walk around in the yard,or even maybe take a short walk with us,like other fathers did…

I can’t recall a lot,of the time we lived there and I have a feeling,that it’s a good thing.

It was weekend again and they were at it again!!He was pushing mother up against the wall,hand around her throat,threatening to kill her.There was blood on the floor and against the wall and both looked bad.I picked up the phone,to call the flying squad”…the police that was supposed to help,within a few minutes….I tried to,but I couldn’t remember the number….five numbers,but I couldn’t get past the 3rd one…He saw me,grabbed the phone and threw it against the wall…

At least it calmed them down a bit,because he didn’t know,whether I got hold of the police,or not……

We moved agàìn…This time,to a new suburb,about 30 kilometres away.It went well,at first.Mother didn’t quit drinking totally,but she got a job and drank less,as she had to work Saterdays.Slowly,but surely,my father was up to his old tricks again…Even if mother only had two drinks, he’ll start with her.He didn’t like her working,because he needed her,to be totally dependent on him…

One Saterday,after drinking from early morning(as usual)he waited,for mother to come home from work…He started picking an argument and late afternoon,just after sunset, he was challenging mother again.She calmed down somewhat and ignored him.She got up and as she walked past him,he tried to grab her,but slipped on his socks(which he àlways wore)and fell.As mother tried to go past him,he tried to kick her feet,out from under her.He wasn’t able to,but she couldn’t get past him.He got up and grabbed her by the hair.At that stage,it was as if my younger brother and I just had enough.We shouted at him,but he was too drunk,to react to it.He wouldn’t let go of mother’s hair….then my brother pushed him slightly and he nearly lost his balance,but he let go of mother.I

just knew,he was going to go for my brother and we,without a word,or a gesture,simultaneously pushed him over.He fell over the small table,in the middle of the lounge.We’d find out much later,that he’d broken a rib and cracked two.He got up again, furious at mother,because of what we did.Again he tried to grab her,but slipped in the hallway and fell.

On the showcase,was an empty,1.5 litre Coke bottle.It was heavy and big. My brother tried to stop me, just for a moment,but nothing could stop me.I hit my father over the head,as hard as I could.He fell and I knew,I was going to jail,for killing my father.He was out,but before we could plan funerals,he woke up.He chased me around the house and locked my brother and I outside.We waited,until we heard him snore and as mother’s bedroom was the only without burglar bars,mother opened her bedroom window for us,to climb through…

We expected the worse,the following day,but he’d forgotten all about the previous night!!!He thought he’d fallen and bumped his head,breaking some glass, somewhere….We never told him the truth….but what we’ve done,must’ve had a subcontious impact on him,as that was the LAST time,he èver laid hands on my mother again…..at least in front of us,or what we know of…

After his death,years later,the post mortem investigation still showed, some glass shards buried in his sculpt…