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My Dad Is A Bodybuilder And He Keeps Attacking My...

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My Dad Is A Bodybuilder And He Keeps Attacking My Stepdad

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I'm almost fourteen years old. In my short time on earth, I've been through a lot. My parents divorced not that long ago. Divorce may not seem like a big deal, but when you're used to\'0a both parents being around all the time, even in a dysfunctional home, the effects can be devastating. I love my parents. In my opinion, they did a great job raising me and my kid brother Ian. We had everything we needed until my dad lost his job. That's when everything changed. I still remember it, like it was yesterday. My dad stormed into the house, fuming, an explosive look on his face. I stood in the corridor staring at my dad, hoping to God that he wouldn't explode. I had witnessed my dad lose his temper once. It wasn't pretty. At the dinner table that evening my dad ranted about how ungrateful his boss was and how much he had done for the company. My poor mother sat there with a look of pure sympathy on her face, staring at my dad chugging a beer, shoveling food down his throat. Up until that day, I had never witnessed my dad drink so heavily in one sitting. Over the months, my dad's drinking got much worse. He didn't just drink alcohol, he had a relationship with alcohol. He defended his booze at all costs. Fed up, my mom poured all of his beer down the sink one day. I had never seen my dad so upset. He threatened to leave my mom if she ever messed with his precious beer again. That's when my mom filed for a divorce. The very next day my dad left, I wondered where he would sleep that night since he didn't have a job or any savings. I was so worried about him and I had no idea what will happen next and if I will ever see him again. All of this affected my life enormously, my grades plummeted and I lost like twenty pounds. But that's another story. As for my mom, let's just say she quickly picked up the pieces of her life and re-married. My stepdad Charles and my dad are so different. Based on appearance only, one would assume that my dad's a bodybuilder or maybe even a professional wrestler. Yeah, my dad's pretty tough looking. Charles, on the other hand, is a little bald guy. It was nice having Charles around. He treated my mom like a queen and bought me and my brother anything we wanted. My dad had become an afterthought until he showed up at the house one day pounding the door. All I remember is Charles opening the door and boom.. crack! My dad nails him in the jaw. Charles was somehow able to escape the struggle and slam the door shut, and then lock it. This was the beginning of many incidences. One evening, my dad hid in the garage and waited for my mom to leave the house for work. Long story short, he reached into the driver side window and dragged my mom out of the car by her hair, shouting at the top of his lungs, calling her every name in the book. The next door neighbor Bill had to pull him off her. No charges were filed but my mom did get a restraining order. That didn't stop my dad from coming back. It became routine. My mom and stepdad did not want to do something against my dad that would hurt me and my brother, but they were sick of his behavior. And So was I. I’ve really had enough. It was so shameful. Every time my dad showed up at the house to fight my stepdad, my mom would call the cops, the cops would arrest my dad and lock him up, within a week he'd be back at the house again creating havoc. He'd throw rocks at the window, turn on the water hose and blast the neighbors and shout profanities at people walking by. All if not most of the kids that lived on my street attended my school. I found out on social media that my house was the laughing stock of the block. It was beyond embarrassing. I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself. I so hated my dad for bringing shame to my family and I was determined to let him know how I felt. When my dad pounded the door one day, I calmly opened it. When he saw me standing there calmly staring back at him, his red bulging eyes near about dropped out of his head. I was the last one he expected to open the door. The first thing I smelled was alcohol, not to mention my dad was wearing shorts

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