Dad's Temper

Ever since I was little, I hated getting my father angry. He'd crinkle his nose, take a stance like a predator, his eyes would become bloodshot, and he would scream at us so loudly the neighbors could hear. However, his temper was so inconsistent that it didn't matter how good I was, he'd find something to get mad about and take it out on us kids. I remember how dad would punch walls, throw things around, slam doors, and scream like there was no tomorrow. He had such an uncontrollable temper, but he hid it well from the court. He hid it so well, the court told my mother to take a year of anger management while the one who needed it was still spanking me until I was about thirteen. Though he only hit someone on occasion, my dad was not the most supportive of parents. As a workaholic, he was never there for me through the bullying I endured from daycare to high school or when I struggled on rare occasions with school. Ever since I was born, he forced me to stand on my own two feet and walk into the world. In third grade, I was glued to a GameBoy playing Pokemon like it was the only thing keeping me sane. In truth, it was. For some reason or another, my father decided to take it away for a month. Unlike most kids, I was a freak of nature (a rather new nickname given to me by a friend, I like it) that turned from the GameBoy to books. In third grade, I was reading the Boxcar children books. Two during school, after school the librarian allowed me to check out THREE which was odd because the max was two for any grade because I'd return them first thing in the morning and check out two more. Back then, we had AR tests to see how well we remembered what we read and if we scored well, we got AR points that we spent getting various objects from a case of toys. Of course, my father claimed that he was the one who encouraged me to read, but he also took away my books during the summer. I would rather read then spend all day doing chores that he and my stepmother didn't feel like ever doing. He also claims to be the one who pushed me to do well in school. However, I had learned early on that if I had good grades, I did better later in life. In my young mind, doing better later in life was my ticket to freedom from hell. Dad's temper made me and my friend Blanco planned for me to runaway. We thought of food, where I'd live (abandoned farmhouses), and when I should go. Of course I never got the chance, but I wanted to so bad. That is how bad that my father's temper pushed me. He made me want to live his house and runaway forever.