“Just shut up! What is wrong with you?!” I heard my mom shout, though since it was through the walls of my room it was muffled and not so loud to me. I guess they assumed that since they were all the way down in the kitchen that I could not hear them. That did not matter. Their words still shook me.
“Me?? What is wrong with you?!” my father said, in words that came out slightly slurred. “You’re just so stupid! Don’t you get it??”
Bang! Someone always threw something. The night seemed more intense than the past few nights. I could smell the liquor from our upstairs bathroom as I quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face with warm water.
I started down the big narrow hallway that was only lit by the dim light coming from the kitchen below. …show more content…
My dad lost his job and no one told me for a few months. As time went on I started to notice how my dad was still in bed when I was leaving for school in the morning and he would be home when I got done school. My mom started to work like a dog. She left for her first job around five o’clock AM and didn’t get home until eight o’clock PM. Since that time my mother’s beautiful smile and contagious laugh seemed to disappear. She used to be one of the happiest people I knew. Now I couldn’t even tell you the last time I saw her really smile; she had gotten good at faking …show more content…
He would get mad about the littlest of thing. The worst is at nighttime. I remember one time, it was the beginning of my sophomore year, and I went down stairs to get something to drink and a snack. I reached into the fridge and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea. Slam. I accidentally knocked one of the various glass bottles of beer onto the ground. The bottle shattered leaving glass shards all over the kitchen floor and beer spewed out. My dad looked at me as if my actions were an attempt to anger him. “I’m sorry,” I quickly responded as I ran to grab the broom. He did not say a word. He pulled me in and pushed me down to the wet, glass covered floor. I felt each shard pierce through the skin on my face and arms. I made sure that that was the last time I would ever go downstairs at nighttime.
Even just when I would come home from school he would scream at me from the chair he sat in in the kitchen. Beer in hand he would tell me that I was a loser and make fun of me because had a girlfriend, telling me that I was ugly and no one will ever want me.
“What did you just say to me??” my father was now saying in an even angrier and louder tone. He stumbled out of his chair and pushed my mom into the corner. He looked her straight in the eyes, “You shut your mouth, now.” And punched her right in the face,
“Me?? What is wrong with you?!” my father said, in words that came out slightly slurred. “You’re just so stupid! Don’t you get it??”
Bang! Someone always threw something. The night seemed more intense than the past few nights. I could smell the liquor from our upstairs bathroom as I quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face with warm water.
I started down the big narrow hallway that was only lit by the dim light coming from the kitchen below. …show more content…
My dad lost his job and no one told me for a few months. As time went on I started to notice how my dad was still in bed when I was leaving for school in the morning and he would be home when I got done school. My mom started to work like a dog. She left for her first job around five o’clock AM and didn’t get home until eight o’clock PM. Since that time my mother’s beautiful smile and contagious laugh seemed to disappear. She used to be one of the happiest people I knew. Now I couldn’t even tell you the last time I saw her really smile; she had gotten good at faking …show more content…
He would get mad about the littlest of thing. The worst is at nighttime. I remember one time, it was the beginning of my sophomore year, and I went down stairs to get something to drink and a snack. I reached into the fridge and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea. Slam. I accidentally knocked one of the various glass bottles of beer onto the ground. The bottle shattered leaving glass shards all over the kitchen floor and beer spewed out. My dad looked at me as if my actions were an attempt to anger him. “I’m sorry,” I quickly responded as I ran to grab the broom. He did not say a word. He pulled me in and pushed me down to the wet, glass covered floor. I felt each shard pierce through the skin on my face and arms. I made sure that that was the last time I would ever go downstairs at nighttime.
Even just when I would come home from school he would scream at me from the chair he sat in in the kitchen. Beer in hand he would tell me that I was a loser and make fun of me because had a girlfriend, telling me that I was ugly and no one will ever want me.
“What did you just say to me??” my father was now saying in an even angrier and louder tone. He stumbled out of his chair and pushed my mom into the corner. He looked her straight in the eyes, “You shut your mouth, now.” And punched her right in the face,