men

My dogs are asking to be beaten....They ate my lunch, that I forgot to grab on the way out; to work. They also pulled all of my clothes out of my room, and onto the floor of my living room. Life...ah how I hate you. 

Today's story will be about my birth father. Richard, my father, was put into jail when I was an infant. I only met him once, when I was two. I wrote to him every week until I was eleven. when I turned 11, I wanted to know why he was in jail. The story that he beat up a man did not hold up anymore. He was in prison too long. So, I asked my grandmother. She told me to write him a letter asking, and if he didn't tell me, she would. Then, I thought it was fair. Today, I think that she should have lied, and not told me the truth.

When I received the letter from him, I read how he raped women because his mother treated him like a girl; so he hated women. He blamed her completely. I hated him. I hated men. I stopped talking to him. I did not feel comfortable being around men alone. (Well, it's that and my grandfather; but that's another story). 

Apparently, he would drive his taxi around, pick up hookers, and force them to perform oral sex on him, among other things. He would hold a knife to their throats, and talk trash to them. He did it to at least 3 women.

A couple years ago, I decided to forgive him. I needed to move forward in my life, and I thought this was a good way to go. So...I wrote him. We've been writing letters since. It's extremely odd how much we have in common. Our handwriting is even very similar. 

-Wolf