When I was a kid, I would go out in the barn, and I would see my mother where we lived on the farm. I would see her lying in the gutter in the manure behind the cows where my father had taken a milk hose and beaten her so bloody that she could not get up and walk. All she could do was roll out of the manure onto the cement sidewalk behind the cows. And I was 8, 9, 10, 11 years old and I remember standing there just swearing that when I am strong enough, I’m going to kill him.
We would have friends over, and my dad would be drunk. If you have an alcoholic parent or a drug-dependent parent, you know what I was experiencing. You know the shame that goes through you when your friends see your parent that way. And so before our friends would get over there, I would grab my dad around the neck, and I would pull him out to the barn, and I would throw him into the pen where the cows would have their calves. I would take the car out of the garage and park it behind the barn so no one could see it. Then we would leave the garage doors open and tell everyone that my dad had to go away on an important appointment. I would go out to the barn, and I would prop him up against the boards, and then I would stick his arms through the boards. Then I would tie one arm to the other arm. I would put a rope around his neck and pull his head all the way over the top board, and then I would tie the rope around his feet, so if he shuffled his feet to get loose, he would choke himself because of what he had done to my family. One of my sisters committed suicide. My oldest brother, imagine this, sued my parents for everything that they had in a court of law. My other brother ran away from home. I despised my dad.
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