That night I was beaten black and purple by my father

If there is, I often wonder, what would my life be like if my parents hadn't divorced? Maybe I will be one of the first few volunteers in my family and one of the few kids in my family who go to college, as my parents expected. But I think I'm more likely to fight against my father because of the way he was taught to beat people.

I still remember that night.

It should be the countdown before my father left home. I often pricked up my ears in the room to listen to my parents’ movements, ranging from the small sound of their bodies moving, getting up, sitting down, and dodging each other, to the big one when the two of them started. When discussing the "future" and any disputes, I was like an intelligence-gathering agent, almost sticking to the wall, listening carefully to their "plans".

That night, I forgot whether to write essays or to write mathematics, two subjects that I was good at in elementary school. I lay on the desk and put my ears close to the table, thinking that this would allow all sounds to be transmitted through the wall or the ground, without missing any sound from the Message from the living room. The homework that could have been completed quickly was just sitting there, unable to move a word.

I have been listening for a long time. The content of the parental conversation was probably about something they had been arguing about for a long time, one of which was the "divorce" and all the asset allocation (including the children.) Actually I didn't listen to anything at all, and what went on in my mind was huge and unbreakable. Anxiety, fear, anxiety ... In the face of the unknown in the future and the changes to come, I just want to stick it on that desktop without moving.

Perhaps after a century, my father suddenly remembered that I was in the room with two children and one who didn't go out for tutoring. He walked to the door of the room and asked me, "Have you finished your homework today?" I didn't answer, and continued to turn the pen in my hand and squeeze the eraser. The blank space in the workbook prevented me from looking up at my father.

My father found that it had been an hour or two since I entered the room and started doing my homework, and he remembered that I was still there for an hour or two, and I hadn't moved a word. As if going mad, my father picked up the board he made and used for punishment, waved it at me, and kept asking me, "Why is it written for so long, and it's still blank? Are you writing?"

My father didn't give me a chance to explain. He didn't ask me to ask, "Are you really going to get a divorce?" "Can you stop quarreling?" I'm not sure at that moment, have any parents thought about the anxiety and fear in their children's hearts? (They can't really take care of themselves.)

Father is gentle. Apart from beating people, he is gentle. Even after beating someone, he will apply some anti-swelling medicine on the purple-black bruise for you, just like in a TV series, making you feel "Ah! He is still gentle!"

Mothers rarely stop fathers from disciplined children, especially when they "really make a mistake". It is useless to beg for mercy. They have to admit their mistakes in the shortest time and be punished. The punishment time will be shortened, and the storm will end quickly. And I'm usually the kind of kid who admits mistakes, stretches out his hand and gets punished and can keep playing, but maybe my nascent rebellion came out of anxiety and fear that night.

I stood there and said nothing, staring at my father as he raised the board in his hand, "If you want to call, I will let you call." (Why are you all so noisy? Why do we decide our future? What random decision? Have you asked us? Can we stop arguing all the time?)

My father was almost blushing and wanted to teach me a lesson about the questions that shot out of my eyes, and he called me one by one. The mother, who would not stop the father from educating the child, rushed forward to stand between the father and me to protect me, who was ten years younger than her at the time, and the father still did not stop! I realized that something was wrong. The board hit my mother, but my father was not like this!

Maybe I softened my posture, maybe I cried aggrieved? My father stopped after he left several black and purple marks on me. I don't remember how many times my mother was beaten to protect me. I just remember that it was the last time, and I could still see my father being so arrogant! It was also the last time I was beaten by my father.

Later, I often wondered, what would I be like if my parents hadn't divorced? Maybe I won't put away my rebellion in order not to cause trouble to my parents, but I will sing the opposite to my parents again and again to the end! Maybe I will try my best to tear off the board and cane from my father's hand and fight him, and then ask him, "How long are you going to beat me like this?" Maybe I will do something earth-shattering just for the sake of Revealing before him the wounds that were corporally punished in the heart...

Divorced parents, the father is like a deflated ball, but his high-spiritedness is not seen; the mother is tense all day, and follows her every day as if it will collapse every day. No one is free to care about whether you do your homework or not, how many times you should finish your book, and who was bullied by you at school? Do you have any pain or grievance in your heart or body? You have to learn all the methods of survival in the fastest time, you have to avoid all unexpected accidents, you have to try your best not to trouble others or become troubles to others...

In the end, you will believe that all the experiences you have experienced are the best arrangements in life! Who knows if those "what ifs" came true back then, would you be better off or worse off than you are now?

if. father series

Picture: 20110803, Linyuan Qingshuiyan. Canon EOS 5D Mark II