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I couldn’t tell if he was playing dumb or if he genuinely didn’t know. Either way, I wasn’t about to back down.
“About your style of discipline.”
Dad let his eyes rest on mine, his gaze burning, for several long moments. Then he snorted, looking away and shaking his head.
“Figured you’d come sulking in here one of these days whining about that. I was hoping, however, that you’d get over it and move on with your life.”
Anger boiled in me, and I did my best to keep it in check.
“Are you serious? You abused us and you hoped that I’d just never mention it?”
“Abuse? You call that abuse? I swear, what is it with your generation that makes you all soft as hell? My old man hit me when I got out of line, and his old man did the same to him. You think any of us ever went whining to our dads about getting a smack every now and then? God, look at you, all geared up to really have a moment with me. Does it feel good? Do you think you’ll get some nice movie-of-the-week resolution from confronting me?”
“You’re unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head. “Look at yourself – fronting like you’re some pillar of the community when you used to get off on hitting helpless children, and later you cheated on your wife with a younger woman - a woman who is younger than your own kids. You’re no hero dad, you’re nothing but a hypocrite.”
Dad’s eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment I worried he might rush over to me and hit me right then and there.
“You’re out of line, kiddo,” he said, standing and leaning against the counter.
“Does it bother you that I’m ashamed of you, of the childhood you gave me? That I joined the military to escape from you, that we all did?”
Rage burned in Dad’s eyes. But this time, it didn’t go away. He stepped closer to me with determined footfalls, his boots against the ground echoing through the kitchen. It took all I had to stand firm and still, to not back down.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid,” he said. “Coming into my home and speaking to me like this.”
“And you’ve got a lot of nerve ruining my childhood and not even having the decency to apologize.”
“So, what’re you going to do? Tattle? Spread gossip around town like some teenage girl?”
“No, because I don’t care what everyone in town thinks about you. I know what kind of man you are, and I don’t need to remind my brothers of the trauma you inflicted upon us. But know this, I will not repeat the sins of my father or your father before you. My brothers and I are bigger and better men than you could ever dream to be.”
There was nothing more to be said. Dad let his eyes stay on mine for several moments. There was conflict in his stare, as if he hadn’t been expecting me to stand up to him like that, to show him that I wasn’t afraid.
“Do it,” he said, a small smirk forming on his lips. “I bet you’ve fantasized about slugging your old man again, really teaching him a lesson. Do it. Do it unless you’re a pussy.”
The temptation was there. But more than that, I didn’t want to be like him. Hitting Dad now would put me on his level, making me no better than he was.
I turned, striding out of the kitchen.
“Good!” he shouted after me. “Be a coward! You had your chance to stand up to me and you failed. Now get the hell out of my house!”
Moments later I was back in my truck, my heart racing. Dad had tried to goad me into a fight, and I’d resisted. I’d wanted to hit him so damn badly, but I knew it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
As I pulled out of the drive, I realized it was a victory, however small.
