Story Peeps Change Lives

My Fist Fight with Dad

Written by VinceM

If you read some of my other stories here on Story Peeps you would know that I was a little bit of a bad ass growing up. Add to that practically zero communication from my parents and that spelled disaster during my teenage years.

Growing up I began hanging out with friends who were very mischievous. My mom and dad met my closest friends, like Freddy who happened to be Puerto Rican in the beginning  of my transformation into a bad ass.

At first they liked him and my mom would go out of here way to buy us donuts from Dunkin Donuts when we hung out at my house.

Soon Freddy and I began getting into more and more illegal situations and before long the cops were visiting my house to ask questions on a regular basis.

My parents connected two and two together and began forbidding me to hangout with Freddy and my other select friends that I met at my public middle school. If you don’t know already, I went to a Catholic school from grades 1 – 5.

Well I never was a fan of authority figures;  whether it be the cops, parents, or friends who think they’re all that. So I kept hanging out with Freddy and even me some crazier friends who made Freddy look like a saint.

 In a way I guess I really feel that no one should have any type of control over me. It’s funny but to this day I still object to being controlled even though I’m much wiser and older than I was during the time this story takes place. This is the one thing about me that hasn’t changed.

Looking back at my life as I write this I just realized that I enjoyed hanging out with people who also objected to authority figures.

Anyways I was much closer with my friends than I ever have been with my family during my teenage years.

How close? Well let me paint you the picture of the physical fights I had with my parents.

One day I was hanging out with Freddy and my sister and at the time I was on bad terms with my family because I came and went when I pleased, rejected their input, and basically didn’t give a crap about how the things I did affected them.

So my sister pulls into my driveway and Freddy is in the car with her. I went upstairs and was rudely greeted by my dad. He knew Freddy was with me and he wanted to put an end to our friendship.

He grabbed me by my collar, ripping my gold chain off my neck at the same time. In that same motion he slams me against the closet door. (He left red marks against my collar bone and my nice stolen gold chain was now broken).

My mom hears the commotion and runs into the kitchen. She screams at my dad to stop, but he doesn’t let go of his strong grip, which presses against my neck and collar bone.

My mom walks over and tries to pry his arm off of me. He reaches back and with one hand throws her to the ground by delivering a strong push. (My dad is a strong guy, if I had to pick an actor that would resemble his physique back then I’d pick Sylvester Stallone. His arms were huge and so was his chest).

The sight of him throwing my mom down to the ground sent rage through my entire body. I felt a surge of energy filling my being and within a split second I pushed him back as if I was trying to push a car off me.

His body went flying backwards and into a few chairs in the kitchen; which immediately fell over. He regained his composure and the look in his eyes was nothing short of I’m going to kill you now!

He ran at me and I swung my right arm at his mouth full force. The impact again throws him back and when his face recoils so that I could see his reaction, I notice blood coming from his mouth.

I punched my dad in the mouth as hard as I could, because I was tired of him threatening me and my mom. I was completely to blame for all the anger in my house, nevertheless I didn’t want to allow that anger to become something that would endanger my mom’s well being if she tried to protect me.

I had one other altercation with my dad that I plan to write about some other day. I do want to say that this wasn’t my proudest moment, but it was something that had to be done. I hate when I hear that men hit women because to me that just shows what a coward that man is.

My dad did get into some physical fights with my mom on rare occasions, but at most he would only push her. My mom on the other hand did lots of provoking and she’s lucky that she didn’t marry an abusive guy.

Author Profile: VinceM

This author has published 26 articles so far. More info about the author is coming soon.