I Hate Father's Day

I have no father.

So many people tell me that I must have one. That somehow getting my mom pregnant means they were a parent. When clearly that’s not true. Impregnating someone else does not make you a father or anything. Being there and caring for your child does. Raising them with love. Helping them be the best person that they can be.

My mom’s ex-husband was none of those things.

He would treat me like his punching bag when he couldn’t get to my mom. Either by hitting me or by emotionally abusing me. Mentally wearing me down until I felt so worthless I contemplated on killing myself. Sometimes in ways that would be rather painful in retrospect. Other times I just wish I went to sleep and never woke up. Because that bastard made me believe that the whole world was better off without me. Telling me off for being ‘Ms. Mom’ as he would put it because I was more of an adult at nine or ten than he was. Which isn’t great in the slightest bit I know that but as a kid I was pissed at him for it. I realize now that it’s because of him not stepping up and being the parent, we all needed.

Not making us lunch when mom always did without being prompted. Sure, we could ask but he always made it difficult to ask for anything. Not just for food but anything we needed.

The worst thing he ever did to me growing up is something that I can remember. He went to jail for a month or so because of this. When I was five years old my mom went to a store with our neighbor to get groceries. This person was her only friend at the time. And the only person that she liked to hang out with. I was the only person in the house that she talked about this and told me to tell her ex-husband this when he got back. So, I did that, and he demanded to know which friend. I kept repeating with a friend and he screamed at me. Picked me up by my hair and even ripped out some of my scalp. I screamed in pain, and I think my brothers were there to see him do this. They were screaming at him to let me go to stop hurting me. That’s when he dropped me on our dog’s leash chain. The metal part that went into the ground went between my legs and caused me vaginal bleeding.

Finally, I cried out our neighbor’s name and he called me a horrible little cunt.

Then he screamed at me to go to my room. My foot hurt so bad, and I tried to tell him that. But I only opened my mouth a little before he interrupted me. Telling me to move my ass or he would beat me if I didn’t. I got up on my hurt foot and ran to my room. Laying on my bed and covering myself up and pretending to be asleep. My foot hurt so bad that I couldn’t do it. It was the worst thing in the entire universe. My foot was in so much pain that hours later it swollen up to the size of a fucking football. I had to be carried to the emergency room because I couldn’t walk. My mom was so afraid that he broke my foot and terrified when she found blood in my panties later.

She wasn’t any less upset after I explained what happened.

We were out of our house for an entire month after that. I was out of school for a long while because of that incident. My Grandpa became my whole world after that. He was the father figure that I desperately needed. The only father that I ever wanted. And the only other adult that I talked about my mom’s ex-husband hurting me. To my mom’s ex-husband’s dismay. My mom talked to me about that later saying how upset it made her ex. I didn’t understand then why I wasn’t allowed to tell Grandpa about it or now. And I’d rather not ask her about that.

All I know is that her ex-husband was and is a terrible man. Who hurt me and hurt my younger brothers. One is living with the scars that our mother’s ex inflicted upon him. The other one died before he could ever graduate high school. All because he couldn’t be bothered to help his mental health. Or cared about his mental health. Taking advice from terrible people who hurt him to the point it was a wonder he lived.

I have no actual father-father, but I suppose my grandpa is good enough. Which makes his health deteriorating so terrible for me to see. It’s selfish I know that. Selfish to only care about my feelings about losing the only father figure that loved me. Truly loved me. It’s one of the reasons that I’ve begun to despise Father’s Day. More than I had some nearly twenty or so years after my mom divorced that abusive monster.

I hope my mom’s ex-husband’s new children never see that side of him and have a loving bio-dad to protect them. They deserve better than him.