My dad was in the military and a judge.
From the time I was a small child until I moved out he beat me. Never with a fist, although that was threatened enough. But he used to get going with what I call the “wrong end” of the belt–the one with the buckle. And he had the buckle where the belt went in the buckle and then back through the other side. He would start swinging that thing and screaming, “Dance! Dance! Dance!”. I was a tender soul but didn’t cry under conditions like this. I think that that made it last longer.
I was an A (sometimes A’s and B’s) student, editor of the yearbook, in the band, in church (and soon off to a well-known religious college), and this happened every other week if not weekly.
He died recently and I still don’t feel it. There is even a part of me that feels relieved. When I heard that he was ‘gone’ I felt lighter. I am not proud of that, it is the truth through.
He abused my whole family but I was the only one that got beaten. Everyone else was female. Mom said that she didn’t know why he didn’t like me.
God that was a long time ago…
