>>11692142Parents were immigrants from Europe who came here in '81.
Father was a drunk and alcoholic up until my early-mid teen years. He finally managed to get it somewhat under control when my brother outgrew him (my brother is 6'4, dad is 5'11). I think that is when he kinda realized that even though he is a construction worker and had pretty good sized muscles, 2 on 1 is still 2 on 1. Before that, though, pretty fucking tyrannical.
The house we grew up I am pretty sure was condemned at one point. I remember waking up with spiders crawling over me before I had to go to school and a lot of times the sound of a rat trap going off and taking out a rat the size of a good skillet.
I remember once, I was 5 or so, and I was closing doors a bit too loudly (I was five and I guess goofing off). He took a bottle of oil and his leather weight-lifting belt and told me to oil it because he was going to beat me with it. He beat me so hard I collapsed in pain, shit and pissed myself, and I honestly thought I was paralyzed because I couldn't feel the hits anymore. It took me maybe 20 minutes or so before I could move my fingers again, but he was getting fucked up in the kitchen (I think he thought he killed me).
After that night for about a week or so I would think of ways of killing either me or him, preferably both. I was terrified of winding up paralyzed, and never having the option of ending it and having my mom clean my shit for the rest of my life. I would beg to die at that point and never be able to do it, and I know my mom wouldn't. Best my five year old self could come up with was waiting when he was knockout drunk and doing it with a knife. I think i tried feeing him water to make him drown at one point, but i must have thought it never went through with it.
