I was only 6 years old when my mom left my real dad; he was an alcoholic and a very angry violent man. I would like to say it was the drink that made him this way but it wasn’t that’s just how he was and most likely probably still is.
As I was so young I don’t remember much from my childhood. My dad worked for British Gas on the roads so he was working away quite a bit, but when he was home my mom and I certainly knew about it. He used to stumble in stinking
of whiskey, his choice of poison.
Sometimes he used to bring home one of his friends, the days were always better when he came too because my mom would cook for them and my dad’s friend would push me round in my toy car for hours. He always left once my dad had fallen asleep; we knew we was safe when he was there because dad would never do what he did where someone could witness it.
But when dad used to come home alone a word was never spoken. No smiles as he walked through the door, no welcome or any kisses were given. Mum would go in the kitchen and cook tea and try not to make eye contact with him because she knew what the wrong look or word spoken could lead too.
One memory will always stay with me forever; I remember it distinctly to this day. My mom had brought a take away for tea, when she had returned home from collecting it she had forgot to leave the door unlocked so my dad could get in when it was time for him to come home.
There was a rattle of the handle, mom ran to the door shouting “sorry, I’m so sorry, I forgot” and BANG my mom hit the floor there was blood all over her face dripping into our carpet. She started to sob. Then my dad spat at her. Shouting loudly telling her to never do it again, every time she tried to get up he kicked her hard in the ribs. I started to cry.
He heard my sobbing and turned to me, I’d seen him hit her so many times before but I had never seen blood like it. He looked at me with anger his face red. He started to come towards me and I couldn’t get away. He grabbed me by the throat and threw me against the kitchen wall.
Thankfully I wasn’t hurt like mom was. He then walked away to the bathroom and came back as if nothing happened.
My mom woke me early the next day with bin liners full of my toys. We got in the car and we drove and drove and never went back. He came to look for us many times right up until I was 15, but both my mom and I will never stand for that again, even though it haunts me still it helped me get out of the same kind of relationship before it was too late.