RE: Memories
December 2, 2013 at 7:51 pm
(This post was last modified: December 2, 2013 at 7:54 pm by freedomfromforum.)
I won't tell you what my father did to me when I was two. I was three years old when my father put me out of the house, naked in the cold. I remember he was mad at my mother for not doing my laundry, leaving me with no clean clothes to wear. He asked her if she would prefer to have his son walk around with no clothes, and so to teach my mom a lesson my father put me outside naked, at age three, and left me there crying, for several minutes. I remember it like it was yesterday.
When I was four years old, my father made me walk across the living-room floor over and over and over until I could learn to stop occasionally dragging my feet. He said no son of his was going to walk like a slob. He was so high on pills that he kept me up until I literally passed out while trying to walk without shuffling my feet. I can still smell the scotch he had in his glass.
When I was five, my dad insisted that I learn how to catch a football. It was a full sized NFL football, and my father threw it hard. I was as afraid of the ball as I was of my father. I told him I had to potty, and he called me a sissy and told me that when I could learn how to catch the ball that he'd allow me to use the bathroom. I remember the point when I could no longer hold it in, I turned and ran for the bathroom. My father drew back and threw the ball. The ball struck me in the center of the back and I fell to the ground where I immediately lost my bladder and bowel contents. I can still hear the ball coming at me.
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When I was four years old, my father made me walk across the living-room floor over and over and over until I could learn to stop occasionally dragging my feet. He said no son of his was going to walk like a slob. He was so high on pills that he kept me up until I literally passed out while trying to walk without shuffling my feet. I can still smell the scotch he had in his glass.
When I was five, my dad insisted that I learn how to catch a football. It was a full sized NFL football, and my father threw it hard. I was as afraid of the ball as I was of my father. I told him I had to potty, and he called me a sissy and told me that when I could learn how to catch the ball that he'd allow me to use the bathroom. I remember the point when I could no longer hold it in, I turned and ran for the bathroom. My father drew back and threw the ball. The ball struck me in the center of the back and I fell to the ground where I immediately lost my bladder and bowel contents. I can still hear the ball coming at me.
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