I apologize in advance for the length of this post and thank the few of you who read all of it. You are a dedicated reader if you manage to get through all of this lol.

My father owns out family business and because of this he is rich. So rich he owned a boat, and two snowmobiles. He still owns two quads (four wheelers), two kayaks, an off-road and an on-road motor cycle, two cars and a house. I feel the need to mention his house because when he bought it he paid in full, cash. He recently sold the snowmobiles and the boat because he’s getting old and can’t use them anymore. He has a three car garage (that stores the fore listed items) and has a three bedroom one bathroom house with a fireplace, a hot tub room and a dog run out back with its own septic tank. He has a 52 inch TV mounted above his fire place and smaller ones in EVERY room in the house, including the bathroom. He just replaced all the appliances in the kitchen with top of the line stainless steel appliances. In short my dad is freakin’ loaded and whenever we go over there my sister and I get whatever we want. He went and bought us the iTouches without a second thought. He bought kayaks for my sister and I, and bought us paddles that cost half as much as the kayaks. He bought us the quads for Christmas and then went and bought us hundreds of dollars worth of gear that we only wore once. My grandparents are even more loaded then my dad. They give all 13 of the kids and grandkids $100 each for Christmas, Easter and birthdays. We get to go to their lake property whenever we want. So why would I hate this man, who could buy me anything I wanted and give me my dreams on a gold platter? Because he is an abusive, racist, drunk, sexist, homophobic asshole and I despise him. I’ve posted comments all over the place about what I think of him and some of the things he’s done, but here I will list all the reasons and examples of why I despise him. Prepare yourself, this will be long.

One of my first memories is of my parents fighting. I don’t recall exactly how old I was but I would’ve had to be three or four. My sister and I were out in the living room watching TV and my parents were in their bedroom shouting at each other about god knows what. Finally I got fed up and raced into my room, grabbing a purple cape with lighter purple spots on it and tied it around my neck. Then I went into the kitchen and grabbed two large salad tossing spoons before running into my parents room and standing between my parents. “I’ve got two spoons and I’m not afraid to use them!” I shouted in my childish voice glaring at my parents and pointing a spoon at both of them. That isn’t really an example of anything bad except that it’s one of my first memories. My parents divorced literally two weeks before my 6th birthday.

I’ve been told multiple times that when I was younger I would tell my father I hated him. He would of course blame this on my mother (I only found these things out after my parents divorced) and he told my sister and I that she was brainwashing us. When he wasn’t spreading libel about my mother he was shouting or hitting me.

There was this one time, when I still wanted to impress my father, and was practicing for little league. He told me to watch out for my sister who was standing right next to me, so that I wouldn’t hit her. I warned her to watch out but she didn’t so when I swung I managed to hit her on the top of the head. She got upset, naturally, and ran into the garage to my dad. He came out looking livid and grabbed the bat out of me hand. He whapped me on the head giving me a good headache and then went back into the garage to comfort my sister. I burst into tears, being only 6 or 7.

Or what about the time I was thrown into a chair because I wouldn’t change a five on my math homework in first grade? I was what 7 or 8 then? Yea, he through me into a chair because he I didn’t want to change a five on my math homework. I told my fifth grade teacher that and he tried to blame me for the situation. Are you, as a teacher, seriously going to blame a kid for their father raising a hand against them? I didn’t like that teacher.

Let’s see, this is getting long. He used to tell my sister and I that we smelled like “sour dog piss” and would tell my sister that she reeked. He thought this was some how insulting my mom because he blamed the smell, that only he could smell, on our clothes. My mom later told me that he used to tell her that when ever she would wash the clothes (when they were married) that they stank of urine. She told me this was because my dad would come home so drunk that he wouldn’t know where he was and would pee in the dresser drawers. So he was hurting his kids in a sick, very stupid attempt at hurting his ex-wife.

When my mom first left my father she wanted to stay close, so that if they worked things out then it would be easier to move back. And she wanted us to be able to see him whenever we wanted, so we were literally 10 blocks down the road from my dad. One weekend when my sister and I were at his house we got hungry, like any normal person on the planet does. Except my father had gone to bed early and made us a soggy bowl of cereal for dinner. My sister decided she wanted something other than this and called my mom, who was out with a friend at the time. She got us some McDonalds, but once we were finished, my dad woke up. He got so angry that my sister and I ended up cowering in fear on the rocking chair while he walked around the house shouting at the top of his lungs and swearing like a sailor. He grabbed the phone, dialed my mom, and shoved the phone into my hand. Then he shouted orders at me, demanding I ask my mom to go and get some more McDonalds for him. I asked her, sobbing hysterically and unable to make any words out. I wasn’t done asking before he snatched the phone out of my hand and started shouting through the phone. The police were called but took over an hour to get there because a woman called and not a child. It was really irritating sitting there waiting.

The police were called three times to have him escorted off of our property when he was trying to pick us up on a day that wasn’t his. We had to get a restraining order to keep him away. He kept us from going back to our moms because he felt that he had been jipped out of his time with us. He would forget when to get us so whenever we asked him why he didn’t get us he would get mad and blame our mom and sometimes us. If he had kept us a day longer then he would’ve been charged with kidnapping.

There are some other things that I can’t think of right now, so we’ll move forward in time a bit to talk about how racist he is and how much he hates gays and basically anyone that isn’t a straight, Christian Italian.

He has a bit of yard work to do around his house so he’s hired a yard maintenance crew.

All of the yard workers are Hispanic and I’m sure my dad set it up this way. I think he feels above them or something, being able to sit in his air-conditioned house while they toil away for an underpaid job. His half of the family is constantly referring to people as the “Orientals” or the “Mexicans” or the “Indians” or even the n-word. I wouldn’t care half as much if it weren’t for the fact that he says every word as if it’s the worst thing in the world. As if he’s talking about something worse then garbage.

My father HATES gay people. Lucky me right? I watched a Degrassi episode at his house once, an episode where one of the main characters reveals that he’s gay and gets a boy friend all in the same show. Anytime the character came on the screen my dad would shout at the screen, saying “that butt-pirate faggot! They should all have their nuts ripped off!” And things of that nature. Aren’t I lucky? Doesn’t that make me just want to tell my dad exactly who I am?

Ok I’ve been writing this for about two hours, I’ll continue this later.

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