My Father

From Birth to 6

I'd be lying if I said that I remember these first 5 years of my life as clear as day. Which is why I rely on my mother for these things. But some things I do remember, just vaguely. Some things can be so traumatizing that I suppressed it in the back of my head. As I have stated before, my dad wasn't all that bad. He read me bed time stories, gave me first aid when I needed it, bought us puppies, and so on. There were times he did seem like a true father. My father mostly had it out for my brother, ever since he was born. One time my brother and sister were crying so loud in their cribs that my dad got out of bed and tried to hit them. He attempted to shut them up, luckily my mom grabbed them and shielded them from his punches. She took all the punches that night. To me, my dad is a monster. I am grateful he wasn't as bad as other horrible parenting cases. But even then, no child should have to experience anything horrible from their parents. I remember when I was 5 and when I was six that my dad started drinking more. 

I also remember that from when I turned 6 my dad became very overprotective of me. I wasn't allowed to to have friends that were boys, typical dad stuff, I know. But you would think he would just scold me for disobeying right? Wrong, he hit me with the belt. I blamed myself for disobeying. But slowly things gradually grew worse. He always told me to man up and walk it off whenever I got hurt. This confused me as a kid because I identify as a girl, why is he treating me like a boy? Over time I finally understood why, I was the son my dad never had. My dad loathed my brother to the point where he would search for a reason to beat on him. My dad occasionally left us with bruises when hitting us, nothing more. My mom always came to the rescue and shielded my brother, taking all the hits for him. My dad just randomly had something against my brother. 

Which makes sense why he never really attacked me as much as him. But then came the verbal and emotional abuse. I was a chubby kid, I became one after being bullied for being to skinny so I ate more food and gained weight. That didn't help at all. I was then bullied for being fat. My mom helped me at times that I hated my body, that some kids call me fat. My mom told me to ignore them, because they don't know me. She told me that the only words that I should care about where the ones that come from family. I understand she was trying to help. And it did for a bit, I didn't care what people said at school, until the words they used to describe me were also used by my family. And because my family spoke those words, I began to believe the kids at school. I hated my body so much, left and right my family, their friends, just everyone kept pointing out how fat I am. Especially from my dad. He still makes comments about my weight. It hurt so much. Of course when I complained to them, they just said I was being too sensitive. And of course my dad just told me to "Be a man". To this day, I still hate my body. I just hide it with a mask. I don't care what people tell me because my body is disgusting.

I was bullied a lot in school, from preschool to the end of high school. In elementary school I was mostly bullied for being ugly, being fat, and being weird. Most girls avoided me because I acted like a boy. I mean, that is how my dad raised me. Hell he would insult me every time I even attempted to act like a girl. I put on lip gloss, so that the girls in school can stop bullying me. Instead of my dad saying "You don't need make up to make you pretty, you're already beautiful in my eyes." he said, "Take that shit off, you look like the prostitutes that stand in front of our house." He said that to me as a kid! I was a kid and he called me a prostitute! I was so hurt by his words that I shut myself in the bathroom and just cried. I cried for a long time. Almost an hour had passed and he sends my mom to the bathroom to tell me to stop crying and to MAN UP. He didn't care about my feelings being hurt. He gave zero fucks, instead he got annoyed that I had emotions. My mom told me to ignore my dad and to just never put on any make up in front of him. I guess this is why I have such a deep hatred for make up. Because even now, as a fucking adult, I am hesitant to put on make up. I'm scared to look like a prostitute. I'm scared that it will prove my dad's point.

I couldn't be a girl around my dad, and I couldn't be a boy around my dad. I couldn't be anything. I couldn't make any female friends because I liked "boys stuff". As a kid I loved wrestling, I loved soccer, I love rough housing, I loved video games, and I loved Batman. Anything that was considered for boys I freaking loved it. All the other girls called me a weirdo for that. Most boys avoided me for being that way. The rare few that stuck by me, they were honestly my best friends. They accepted me despite being a girl who liked guy things. I wasn't allowed to tell my parents about having boys as my friends. My dad would kill me if he found out. I was basically raised as a boy, yet I wasn't allowed to be one at home. My dad had a strong belief that women are only good for housework and cooking, while men bring bread to the table as they work. To him, I wasn't allowed to be a girl yet I had to do chores and clean all the damn time. My mom did most of the housework, the most I did as a kid was my chores.

That's another thing, as a kid I was so passionate to cook. Ever since Hell's Kitchen came out I would watch all the episodes, all the seasons. I love Chef Gordon Ramsay, he is and will forever always be my idle. He sparked my passion to cook, I wanted to be a chef so bad. And so, I began to cook. My mom taught me small recipes, and I always watched her in the kitchen. I made sure to pay very close attention so that I can be a chef. I would cook a few times here and there. I burned food a few times, but hey I was a kid I was still learning. My dad didn't understand that. He would say I am a terrible cook and I should quit while I'm still young. I felt so shitty, I sucked as a cook in his eyes. I am just good at nothing. What kept my passion going was my mom, my grandma, and Chef Gordon Ramsay. My mom and grandma encouraged me no matter what. As for Gordon Ramsay, he had so many inspirational quotes that it just motivated me more. I forced myself to push through and kept practicing no matter what. I wanted to be a chef no matter what. My dad kept telling me how much of a stupid dream it was and that it was pointless. I wanted to prove him wrong so I kept fighting. He may have defeated me by taking away my gender identity and my self-esteem, but he is not taking away my passion for cooking.

I had to be very careful with speaking, especially in front of my dad. Here is a list of forbidden words that my brother, sister and I weren't allowed to use: Dumb, sucker, stupid, poopy head, loser, dummy, slow, weak, duh, duty, dukie, meany, baby, crybaby, and dumdum. If my dad heard any of those words coming out of our mouths, it was an immediate slap to the face. Hell I remember my ass getting kicked because I was crying one time. And I do mean he kicked my ass, he literally kicked my butt, ass cheeks and all. He kicked me so hard that I had a bruise on my fucking ass for a week. It hurt to sit but I had to suck it up. What happened that evening for me to get my literal ass to be kicked? I forgot to close the curtains in my room. Yeah, you read right. I FORGOT TO CLOSE THE CURTAINS IN MY FUCKING ROOM. My mom yelled at me and threatened to whoop my ass with the belt. I started crying and apologizing, begging her to not whoop my butt. I begged and cried to her, telling her I won't forget to close the curtains again and to give me one more chance. I was crouching slightly and backing away slowly. Before my mom could even speak BAM, I felt a huge wave of pain on my ass. My dad had just kicked me. He yelled, "Stop fucking crying!" That was his reason to kick me. He kicked me because I was crying. He said I was crying for no reason, so he gave me a reason to cry. He was wearing his heavy duty work boots when he kicked me. I couldn't even cry in front of him because the second I sobbed from the pain, he told me to shut my mouth or else he'll kick my ass again and make sure the kick is harder. I immediately bit my tongue and went to my room. I was hiccuping as I closed the curtains. Once I was alone in my room I close my door and just sobbed into my pillow. My mom immediately felt bad when I got hit she went to calm my dad down first then went into my room to comfort me. 

I wanted to call the police that night, I really did. I didn't because I was scared to lose my mom, my sister and my brother. I was also scared of the police not believing me and if they didn't believe me, my dad would beat me for even calling the police. I was scared of the police and my dad. I was only a kid. That night, I told my mom to leave that man. I told her to run away to Mexico and to take us with her. I was so fucking scared to be anywhere near that monster. I wanted the pain to go away. Sadly this is just the beginning of something much worse. Who knew that physical pain isn't the only thing to traumatize a kid. Who knew his words could hurt just as much as his fists.