And This Christmas Willllllllllllllllll...........Not Be.

Well here it is Christmas Eve, and I decided to release. I actually never plan to write anything, but I had to tonight. I hate Christmas for so many reasons.
Growing up I never spent Xmas with my mom. It was court ordered that I spend it with my father. It was sweet man. I used to get so many gifts. I mean some good shit too. I mean the hulk Hogan men, the he man joints, race tracks you name it. One Xmas I even got a bike. The shit was called the silver fox. Looking back the bike was kind of gay. It was silver of course, but it had tassels, silvery tassels and a radio. I mean damn, I'm really hoping it didn't have a basket too.

You see, the initial excitement about these gifts was always short lived. Not because I got beatings or anything, but because this nigga was a sack of shit. I remember thinking all the time how scared I was of this guy. There was something just so menacing about him. Something I still can't understand.

Don't know if it was because he was a drunk, but he did some foul shit. I mean I saw him two weekends a month for years, and I can only remember 15 percent of the time being somewhat decent.

Sometimes I look at leave it to beaver, and crack up because the Beav hated taking baths. I always wondered if Ward was fucking the Beav up in the tub like I was getting. I swear on everything I love that this man wanted to drown me. He would bitch about me not washing my hair, which is weird. What was I, about eight and shit? Seven, ten, eleven? I don't know. But what he would do is beat my ass and demand me to go back in the bathroom, run the water again and sit in the tub while he demanded that I shampoo my hair, and then he would get the biggest cup of water, demand that I put my head all the way back while he threw the cup of water in my face. If I put my head down, I would get a slap or a smack or a punch. This went on for years. I am not lying when I say that water went all up my nose and when I was finally allowed to put my head down I was spitting out water that went through my nose. That is just one thing I remember. Of course there is more.

Fast forward to 2005. My daughter who was about two or close to three at the time would stay with me often at my apartment. I had a set bath time for her. For the first five mins I would let her play in the tub, and then I would sing a song about where to wash. LOL, if you knew me you know I make songs up on the regular. When she was an infant, of course I had to wash her hair, and the same as a toddler. But one night I go in to wash her hair because I was going to try to do it. Lord knows her momma wasn't going to. So I go in, lather her head up, and tell her to put her head back. She hated it! She was so scared that she started shaking. I tried to make it as easy as I could for her. Some water had gone up her nose or something, I don't know. But there was a moment where I got mad and frustrated. All those years I forgot about the past. She looked so damned scared. I left out the bathroom, went into the living room, sat down and just thought for a minute. I was almost in tears myself. It hurt me as if that was me sitting in the tub. I went back in there. I threw the cup of water over my head a few times and did my best to comfort her. She eventually went through with it. Bottom line, I love her too much too hurt her intentionally. Love her too much too make her fear me because I can. I love her too much. That nigga fucked up.

And big time too. My parenting skills have definitely been sketchy at times. Am not the best dad, and far from the worst. But I try my best. I think since my daughter was born, I think if how I grew up, and how much I want my daughter to grow up and exceed me in all ways possible. I think of my parents and how selfish they were, how spiteful they were. How just fucking ignorant they were and are.

Check it. My pops lived in a nice town, had a few cars all at once, lived in his in laws house having to pay nothing. He had to pay a whopping 10 to 20 bucks a week for child support. In the eighties, I guess that was good money. The only reason I know what he paid was because one Saturday he saw my jeans and asked "What is your mother doing with the 80 dollars a month I'm sending?!!” If I knew then what I know now I would have been like; "Keeping the motherfuckng lights on you dumb asshole!" But whatever.

For all the shit I was bought, my pops never ever sent anything back home with me. Nothing! Not the toys, the bike, and not even some clothes. My mom and I lost everything in a fire one year, and it was hard for her to recuperate for a long while. Single mom, okay job, just making enough to pay the bills. He sent one item actually, some buster brown shoes that had a hump in the front. The ugliest shoes ever known to man. When he got them I told him I didn't like them. When he bought them, he was laughing his ass off. I didn't get it then, but I get it now. We didn't have anything. I remember nights that my mom would cry her heart out on the bed, scared that my pops was going to get custody. In hindsight, maybe it would have been better for her; she could have finished school, and got her degree or something. I feel like I fucked her life up, and sometimes in her own way she let's me know it. LOL, I just couldn’t win growing up.

I have seen the same things in myself that he was doing then. I mean for so long I was spiteful. I would keep all the good clothes and shoes and toys and etc, just to get back at her mom. I figured the more fucked up she looked here and there, the better my chances of me gaining custody, or maybe she will decide to want to stay with me instead. But I can't do that dumb shit anymore. What is the purpose of that? Why make my daughter embarrassed because her parents are fucked up? Why?

My pops would often get me and bring me to my grandma's house on the weekends, and spend a lot of time downing me, and my mom about my appearance. My lack of this, my lack of that, blah blah blah. I mean like I was a joke to them. I never felt comfortable around them for a very long time. I remember once, I had to take a shit so bad, and I was waiting outside of the bathroom. Someone was in there for seemed like forever. I forgot how old I was, it was in the single digits, but I fucked around and stained my drawers slightly. I finally got in to take the shit but the damage was done. Being so fearful of my pops I just went to an empty corner of a crowded house and kept to myself. One of my cousins snitched on me and it was a wrap. It was some sort of party and there was a gang of people there. My pops put me in the middle of my grandma's living room and demanded that I drop my pants and drawers so everyone could see what I'd done. I remember how small I felt. It was like a movie or something. I mean these people were cracking the fuck up. Most of them anyways. I me, I stood there while was drunk and laughing at me and telling jokes at my expense. I don't even think I cried, I just stood there frozen. I think that was the point that the fear I had of my father turned to hate. And I was Young too. I just couldn't believe that my own father would do me like that.

See, I have such a long memory. My short memory is fucked up, but my ass recalls all types of old shit for some reason. All I need is a hint ya know? Sometimes I dream and have nightmares about what I wrote.

I cringe if I have to speak to this guy these days. I feel sick if I even have the word Daddy coming from my throat. It’s not that serious for all, but is for me. At this time that's all that I can share. There is just too much. I just had to release it. I can go the rest of my life without seeing him or talking or whatever unless he has some money for me. That being said, this will be continued