Christmas with Dad

“I want to play with my Pretty Pony Paradise Estate!” I try not to stamp my foot.  Dad doesn’t like it when I stamp my feet.
    “I said no, now go to bed!” he yells.  He’s so mean sometimes.  He looks like a giant or an ogre from one of the story books.  One of those slimy yucky ones that tries to eat the three billy goats gruff.  His eyebrows make a big V.  I wonder how he does that.  I don’t want my eyebrows to ever look like that. It’s scary.  He’s watching TV and won’t evne look at me.  You’d think it was Scooby Doo or somethin’, the way he stares, but it’s just some crummy old movie with girls in bathing suits.
    “You promised when we were at Grandma’s that I could play when we got home!” I am mad.  He promised.  He really did.  Tears are rolling down my face, and I keep from licking them off the corners of my mouth ‘cause that makes me giggle and I don’t want to be happy.  I want to make him change his mind.  I want to play with Meagan and Sundancer.
    “I changed my mind, now damn it, Lisa, go to bed!”  He looks at me. Ut oh.  Maybe I better go to bed.  But he promised.  Mommy always says that you should keep your promises and I want to see if my ponies will like their new home.
    The light of the TV is reflecting off of the front of his head.  I wonder if he knows how stupid he looks.  He’s getting all red in the face at me.  All I want to do is play, not watch his stupid movie or even talk to him.  He’s mean.
    “You’re not s’posed to yell.  Mommy say no yelling on Christmas day!” I step closer to him.  Maybe he’ll remember that I’m his little girl and maybe he’ll hug me real big and turn off the TV.  He’s smelly.  I think it’s his hair.  Mommy keeps telling him not to use that grease.  I think that’s why all his hair runs away; it doesn’t like the smell.  It makes his hair so stiff that I bet my brother could use it as a ramp for his hot wheels.
    “Christmas is over.  Go to bed.”  He sounds like the dog when I grab its tail, or the Grinch that stole Christmas.  Better not tell him that; he’ll get mad.  I wonder if I could find a little screen so I could see his heart.  Is it three sizes too small?!?
    “It’s still Christmas ‘til the little hand touches the twelve and it’s not even on the eight!  There’s a bizillion hours left of Christmas!”  Meanie.  Can’t even have fun on Christmas.
    “Shut up and go to bed.”  He stand up.  Maybe a couple steps back wouldn’t hurt.  Oops, I bumped into the TV.
    “Hey, watch it!  Go to bed now or I’ll spank you!”
    “But Mommy and Bubby aren’t back from testing his new bike yet.  I want to kiss them good night.”  Maybe if I wait long enough he’ll give in.  I really want to play some more.  Besides, Momy wouldn’t have put all the stickers on it if she didn’t want me to play with it tonight!
    “TO BED!” He hollers.  He didn’t have to yell like that.  I would’ve gone.  I’m crying. Oh no.  He’s coming toward me.
    “Ouch, let go!” He has a hold of my arm.  I didn’t do anything.  What is he muttering?  I can’t understand him.
    “Damn little… I’ll teach you not to do as you’re told!” Oh no, here it comes.  He’s pushing me over his knee.  His bone cuts into my stomach.  The sound of the belt sliding out of its loops makes me freeze.
    “MOMMY!!!” I scream, “Daddy, please don’t.  I’ll be good.  I’ll be good.  I’ll go to bed!”
    “You’ve got to learn some manners little girl and I’m gonna teach ’em to you!”  Is he really laughing?  The first hit is not very hard, but the belt doesn’t just hit my bottom, where he means for it to.  With each it, he’s hitting my sides and then my lower legs and now my back.  I try to get away, but it only makes the belt hit worse places.  He’ll stop if I scream enough.  He doesn’t know how much he’s hurting me.  He can’t know.  It doesn’t work.  I’ve lost count of how many it was.  On Christmas.  Who spanks a kid on Christmas?  Mommy wouldn’t spank me on Christmas.  She didn’t last year when I tried to glue angel hair on the dog.
    “Mommy’s gonna get you.  She’s gonna spank you for being mean to me!” Maybe she will, if this spanking ever stops and she ever gets home.  Why is he spanking me harder?!?  Isn’t he afraid of Mommy?  It’ll be over in a minute.
    It’s over.  He’s in the kitchen, pacing.  I’m alone.  His movie is ending, but he didn’t watch the last of it.  I hope he doesn’t spank me again for making him miss it.
    Mommy’s home.  I can hear her and Bubby laughing as they come up the walk.  When she walks in the door, she looks at me, and then at Dad, “Rick, take your sister to her room and both of you stay there.”
    “What do we do now?  I ask him, as he hurries me in my room.
    “We pack,” my brother answers, closing the door behind him.

 

Reviews

[WriterMe]

Wow, that was very realistic. I can imagine a lot of parents being that way, especially to their young ones. Very strong piece. I suggest a proof read will fix those tiny errors. The ending, though finishes the story.. doesnt really give it the 'the end' factor. Haha i hope that made sense. It just that you can write more =] You can describe how they run away and face life after that =]