My Daddy

As I quiver, curled in a ball on the soft, carpeted floor of my brother's room, I try to block out the yelling from two rooms away. I pray that it will just be over and finally my mom will kick him out and make him try to fend for himself. As I got older, the fighting never seemed to die down. I can still picture the plates flying across the kitchen and shattering into little pieces as they crash against the pale wall or tiled floor. My mom would just stand there with her hair up in a messy ponytail, tears streaming down her face, and her face colored a faded red.

These aren't the happy memories you would wish to have as a child, yet this is what a lot of my memories consist of. He has always been angry. As far back as I can remember he has never truly been a kind, loving man. There is always a little trace of anger in his words. Even though his explosions of anger have become less and less these days, they still occur with the same intensity, and for the stupidest reasons you can possibly imagine.

"Where the hell are my fucking glasses?!" The sound of his deep voice rattles throughout the house and informs everyone to stay out of his way. My dog runs with her tail between her legs into my brother's bedroom, putting her head under his bed. Once my dog is safely in her hiding place my brother gets up from his worn green computer chair, lazily walks to the door and closes it, shutting out the world. "Who moved my glasses?" Often the reasons he would get mad would be because he misplaced something. Any sane person would have to agree that he has no right to be so pissed off, especially when he created this problem for himself. "Why the fuck did you touch my glasses?!" he would continue yelling so that anyone within a mile radius could hear him.

My mom tries to be the savior of the family. She attempts over and over again to calm him down and to make him think logically. "Honey, where did you leave them last?" She would make this fatal mistake time and time again. I'm not sure if she just didn't want to give up trying or forgot that her attempts would simply piss him off more. One thing I've learned that there is no reasoning with an unreasonable person. Don't even try.

"If I knew where the fuck I left them I wouldn't be asking, now would I?" He would always taunt her with his words, never accepting the help she offered to find them. Instead he unleashed his anger out on her. Somehow in his mind he made it so the whole situation was her fault, never accepting responsibility himself. He is never wrong.

"I didn't touch your glasses. I'll help you look though." She tries to stay calm and ignores the fact that he doesn't seem to care that he is emotionally killing her. Thankfully my father has never been physically abusive. His way of beating people is through words.

"I don't need your help!" he screams and then stomps off slamming every door he goes through on his way to the car. He would always leave. I used to think that he was abandoning our family and this would actually bring a smile to my face. To my disappointment he came back. He would return in a much calmer mood but the anger would still linger in every