Dad 2 (Time To Get It Addressed) in Writing To Escape [Open Diary Entries]

My father,

Don't worry, unlike my last entry these are my thoughts at the current date.

The father who is the screaming example of how to do it wrong: · Alcoholic · Drug abuser · Cheat · Brawler · Thief · Child neglecter · Child beater

My father is one who came from a dicey upbringing, he was a big 'player' in every sense of the term in his neck of the woods in London, Mick has always had a drink problem, for the longest of times a drug problem too, he still has the drink problem (there the story ends)

My father has never been one to take responsibility for things that have happened under his watch, the truth is; he doesn't, nor has he ever cared to do so, he has his own life, he likes to get drunk, deal with immediate family matters (to be discussed later and no I do not count) and then do his own thing, responsibility is not a key issue.

I lived in London once upon a time, a time at my age I should not be able to remember, sadly though parents do not seem to realise that traumas set in children's minds, we remember them more vividly than the boogie man because it is something we lived, sometimes we lived it on a day to day basis and no matter what is said to us, something's do not, nor will they ever go away.

I vividly remember once watching Dirty Dancing on the T.V as a distraction to the arguing between my mother and father, I got up to intervene in the argument because it was loud, I took my father's hand, he subsequently smacked me in the face and sent me flying across the room, it was the first time I'd ever defied gravity in such a profound way.

Numerous things would happen with my father including the 'surprise punch' to 'toughen me up; normally this included one swift smack to the stomach that would result in me either coughing horrifically or physically vomiting, it always pended on his mood.

Sometimes I regret remembering things more clearly than I should, one being when we were in a run-down flat as a place to live, he would come home drunk and then decide to get into bed with my mum, who was either in her own single bed or next to me, either way sometimes it would end the same and well let's not go down the my biological mother screwing dad route, you can take the 11 half sisters / 7 half brothers I have route instead as a future reference instead. (figure now revised to 5 half brothers and 3 sisters)

In any case, some sounds and images you just don't want to remember; no matter how hard to you try, you don't forget, the word *no *was a prolific one, draw your own conclusions, they're probably accurate.

I was rid of my father pretty much after the incident described in the last paragraph before my poem in my previous entry, things just didn't work out shall we say. (exert below)

"I’ll never forget one particular moment in time though when I was at home for the typical night I was knocked down and led flat on my stomach, his knee on the back of my neck pushing my face into the ground, I struggled to breath and the pressure made my nose bleed. He took my hand and pulled it up my back slowly until I felt it slowly begin to crack and grind under the pressure, the pain became unbearable and before I passed out I remember the snap as a part of my body broke."

My father turns up around Christmas to visit his mother who lives in Lancashire, we live in the same neighbourhood so we get the visit too, he tends to come round, sometimes sober wanting a drink, other times drunk.

Always though he'll manage to find ways to throw insults within 20 seconds of arrival. He mostly throws them at me, which I will admit due to his relationship with me can rattle me for a moment, then it's just a case of him leaving...that's not true, it pisses me off now and I let him know.

Father, dad, Mick, whatever you want to call him holds onto his former image like a title to be embraced by Al Capone but by the London standard, don't get me wrong I am impressed that I come from such a seed, maybe I should be a pedigree gangster.

I often wonder if that was the life he planned before I was taken away from London to live in Lancashire.

I got one thing from my father that I actually like you know. A love for animals, especially dogs. I connect with them, strangely enough no matter how shit he treated me, he was always fantastic with dogs, he'd never let anyone lay a finger on an animal inappropriately, it concerns me that I feel a very similar obligation in that regard.

Personally though, when it comes to kids, they annoy me and for the most part I cannot stand them, one of my notes from a previous entry said "You'll find yourself sitting at the mall, glaring at little boys and their fathers for no apparent reason" (out of context the way I've quoted it there I admit) in some aspects it is true, but mostly in the sense that I don't like the fact that most children don't understand what it means to be where they are, parents that love them, their innocence still in tact.

Kids just irritate me and I struggle to interact with them unless I have a real purpose to, maybe I got that from my absentee father too.

The above being said though...

There is not a child on this earth I would ever let take my place, nor is there a child on this earth whom I would let go through a second of what I have gone through, if I were given the choice to trade places...put me through it again.

I will never break.

I believe in innocence and purity, I will do what needs to be done to protect it. To some, that will seem naive, to others that will be hope.

In either case, I cannot let people fall when I gave my word to protect them.

I will never break...put me through it again.

G

Last updated May 26, 2014