With my father, we lose our lives to argue. I tried to understand for years, but there is nothing to understand. In any case, I will never know his reasons – if he knows them himself.
When my parents divorced, my mother was already sick and she preferred that I stay living with my father. She died when I was 7 years old. As a child, I was often left to myself. My father worked a lot, left early and returned late, I managed. We lived in an old horse relay in Sarthe, a huge barrack with seven rooms. In the morning, I cuckooly made him by the window, then I was preparing myself, I had lunch, I went to school on foot – at the time, it was done. In the evening, the same. This autonomy, I moved in it.
belt stroke
I built myself alone. With all this freedom, at times, I needed a framework. I’m not just talking about sanctions, but simply a presence. But he only worked for punishment, and the old -fashioned. Duties not done? Bad notes? A poorly stored room? It was belt shots. When you are a child, you undergo. It is later, when the balance of power changes, that things change.
In 1995, I was a young adult, I was 20 years old. My father had rebuilt his life with another woman, I had a brother and a 4 and 5 year old sister. We then lived near Toulon. When they moved to Normandy, I stayed in the South, in Marseille, where I studied because I wanted to be an oceanograph. At Christmas, we gathered at home, with my father, my mother-in-law, the children and my maternal grandmother, of whom I am very close. Usually, we went to my paternal grandparents. There have always been tensions and arguments at Christmas, but that was not going very far because there was the frame: my father’s parents, uncles and aunts …
This time, my father was odious from the start. The evening started well: a beautiful table, a good meal, everything you need. But he had a very aggressive and haughty attitude towards his partner. He spoke badly, treated her like a boniche. In my heart, I started to boil. At one point, he must have told him something like “it’s too cooked” or “you really do anything”, and there, I couldn’t be silent. I told her to stop. The tone rose fairly quickly, despite the presence of my grandmother, who was trying to calm the game. We quickly came to the hands: I think he tried to put a slap, but I had no longer had 15 years old, I had become strong. He saw that I could hurt him. So he told me to go.
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