1.3
This is in honor of my mom. Because of my dad, we lost her all too early. Here's her story.
It was roughly 2013, I get a call from my youngest brother John who was at their house. "You need to come over here now, dad's going to kill Franklin. He just threw him across the room."
Luckily, I lived right next door to my parents, so I ran over as quickly as I could.
My dad was standing over my mom screaming about how much he hates her dog, and I have to take him and get rid of him now.
Apparently, what happened was Franklin, a yellow lab, and their other mixed breed dog, Emily had been playing when Franklin bumped into my dad causing his rage.
My mom loved Franklin. She adopted him from a shelter in the hopes she would feel comfortable going on walks having him along. I now know that she really just wanted him so she would feel comfortable have protection living in her own house.
My mom was sitting on a small chair meant for kids, crying. As I walked up to them, she looked at me with tears running down her face and quietly said, "Please help me."
My dad never stopped yelling about how much he hated her dog to even listen to what she had just said. The look on my mom's face and asking me for help erased all those years of fearing my dad, now I hated him.
I walked up to him and stood in his face as he yelled at me that the dog has to go now! I yelled back, "No. The dog stays and you can go!" With his fists clenched, he started to yell at me to get the hell out of his house. He was furious, so red in his face that his veins were popping out in his forehead. I thought for sure, I was going to get hit. I was waiting for it, almost hoping for it. It would give me the excuse to take out all the anger on him I had been saving up all those years.
I again yelled back, "No, you can leave!" He told me again to get out of his house. I repeated that he is the one who's going to leave.
He stood there for a moment glaring at me. I waited for him to swing not breaking eye contact with him. Surprisingly, he turned away from me and started stomping around the house throwing a suitcase down the steps from second floor, kicking anything that got in his way, including the chair my mom had been sitting on, as he started to pack some of his things. I watched a grown adult male throw a temper tantrum like a small child. Going out of his way to grab things just to throw them or kick them.
I was hoping that we were going to be rid of him finally. He made several trips back and forth in front of us, hoping for us to cave and beg his forgiveness. He was not going to get that from me. After 10 minutes of throwing things, stomping around, and screaming, he finally stormed out of the house, slamming every door on the way out. It was a sigh of relief, but unfortunately, he would return.
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