Give Me A Hand

When I was in 10th grade, my dad beat the crap out of me in the main parking lot of school because he thought I disrespected him and lied to him. what he beat me with was my own broken arm that was in a cast. I was so embarrassed by the scene that I started to laugh about it. He didn't like that too much so it lasted a little longer than it was originally going to. But I couldn't help myself. I viewed the scene from a third party perspective and thought I had a bunch of cast chalk all over my head and face. That vision was enough to make me crack up at the whole thing. I imagined what I was going to look like showing up to the doctor's office with my arm still* broken , chalk all over my face and try to answer his questions about have I been taking care of the arm, not getting it wet, elevating it , etc. meanwhile, I had to fend myself off from it beating the crap out of me. (btw, pops was angry cuz he had to wait for me longer than he wanted to as he had to take me to the doctor to , he thought, have the cast removed. It was removed then replaced with a new one.) I still get that tickle feeling in my cheeks when I think of what that had to look like. Or what a police report would have read like. "you say it was your own hand that beat you? Then why blame your father.?" .."you're free to go dad. but we're going to have to have a word or two with junior her about lying to the police."
jayciedubb jayciedubb
51-55, M
Sep 15, 2012