Member-only story
The Last Time Dad Hit Me
What happened when I stood up to my father
I don’t remember the last time Dad hit me. But I do remember the last time I was willing to put up with it.
I don’t remember what he was so angry about. Dad was sitting in his sky-blue recliner, yelling. Mom was standing behind him, wedged between the wall and the chair.
My siblings had all made themselves scarce. Nothing good could come from being in the room when Dad was angry.
I remember thinking he was through. I turned and started to walk toward my room. I had reached the edge of the front room when Dad’s voice boomed behind me, “Where do you think you’re going?”
I turned around and said, “I thought you were done yelling.”
What the hell was I thinking?
Dad stared me down, “You’re not too old to be spanked.” He was no longer yelling.
I was twelve.
“Maybe not, but I’m old enough to hit back.”
Hell flashed in Dad’s eyes, and he shot out of the chair. I knew I was dead. He would finally beat me into unconsciousness.
Somehow, Mom caught Dad and placed her hand on his shoulder. He sat back down in his chair. She gave me a look, and I left.
I locked myself in my room in case Dad broke free of Mom’s spell. I opened my window, ready to kick out the screen and run if he tried to enter my room.
What the hell was I thinking?
After an hour, I closed my window and listened to the radio until I fell asleep.
Nobody ever spoke about that night ever again, and Dad never hit another one of us kids.
