Sometimes People Get Hurt (682 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.42 on 18 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by sword (View user info) at 2005-06-02 05:20:48 EDT
At the age of 16 I discovered my fathers addiction, but before you can even begin to understand what I am about to tell you you'd have to know my father. My father is a Vietnam veteran; he is a big man, 6'5" and about 250 pounds, almost all muscle. My father seems a fairly gentle man, he is often sedate and he is slow to anger. He doesn't smoke and never in all my life have I seen him even touch alcohol.
In the summer of my sixteenth year my family and I went on a vacation. We drove for a couple days to go down to Texas to visit with my grandparents. After the first day of driving we pulled over at a cheap and sleazy hotel. It was the kind we normally stayed at. My family had quite a bit of money but none of us liked to waste it and so we hoarded our cash like misers and slept like paupers.
After we got into our room my family unpacked with the dexterity gained from long experience, made ready for bed and then promptly began to set about going to sleep. While we were all trying to drift off we heard it. We heard it through the paper thin walls of our cheap hotel room.
A man and a woman next door were arguing loudly and their words were quite audible. For a brief period we listened to their frenzied debate. The man was yelling about someone named Betsy and about their suitcases and their luggage and how it was "her" job to unpack and the woman was shrieking back at the man about how he always criticized her and about how he should show her some respect in front of Betsy. Then came the thud, the crash, the wailing and the crying. The woman's voice was frantically calling out apologies but the hammer like sound of repeated blows showed the man wasn't in an especially forgiving mood.
My family hadn't spoken one word for several hours. We weren't talkative people, but now my father spoke and he spoke to me. "Son, get up, I need to show you something" With a nod to my mother my father led me out of our room. He locked the door behind us.
My father walked calmly over to our neighbor's door and began beating it with the ferocity our neighbor was beating his wife. With a sudden burst of motion the door was flung open and in the portal stood a half dressed man nearly as tall as my father and about 100 pounds heavier, the man was out of breath and panting but the thing I remember most vividly about him was the blood on his hands and knuckles. "Who the fuck are you?" He shouted.
If you have never seen someone's nose get broken before then you would be surprised to learn just how much bleeding that type of thing can cause. My father didn't say a word to the fat man; he just delivered his answer with his right fist and he delivered it straight to the fat man's nose. With a halo of blood exploding behind him the surprised fat man staggered back, my father kneed him in the groin and punched him in the throat with the same motion. While the fat man crumpled in pain my father began to attack him in earnest. My father sent punch after punch into the fat man's chest each blow yielding the sickening crack of bone. The fat man couldn't endure this brand of punishment and collapsed to writhe in pain on the floor, this didn't stop my father who relentlessly continued to pound away on his injured opponent methodically breaking each of his ribs.
Through this entire process I stood hesitantly in the door way watching my father. I also saw the woman lying on the ground, resting her back against the cheap hotel bed. Tears ran down her face but she watched her husband being pummeled with rapt attention. I saw too a little girl, maybe 8 years old watching the same scene with the same tear streaked expression her mother wore. They were identical twins with different ages.
When the fat man began to cry my father stopped punching him and instead grabbed him by the hand. My father stretched out the fat man's arm as far as it would go and then laid it against the ground. Before the fat man could withdraw his hand my father stomped on it with his foot, eliciting a shriek from the tortured fat man who lay crying the floor of his hotel room. My father stomped on the hand several more times before he finally gave it up and wordlessly left the room with me in tow. When we got back to our room, only a few short paces away, we found my mom and my younger sister with all of our stuff packed up. Silently we each grabbed our suitcases and loaded back into our car and drove off. That night we stayed at a nice hotel, one with thicker walls, a little farther down the road.
This is the kind of man my father was and now that you know him maybe you can make more sense of his addiction. Next time I will tell you more about that.
User Reviews
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2005-06-06 01:03:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is well written- (it's odd how people here sometimes get obsessed with whether something is "true" or not)
As for the punching the guy for beating up the woman- unfortunately it won't have done anything other than make the dad feel better- the guy will have taken it out on his girlfriend/ wife later, and she will stay with him because they always do.
Submitted by fried-green-potatoes (user info) at 2005-06-06 00:49:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Did the nice place down the road ever recover their TV and towels?
Submitted by jumpinjellyfish (user info) at 2005-06-02 11:40:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
God Damn!
That was great.
Submitted by Vulva (user info) at 2005-06-02 09:03:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Your dad should have taken the lady back to the room with him....she would have given a thank you hummer at least - good story
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-06-02 08:32:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
NOt just broken ribs.
Every rib broken.
Submitted by TheSpook (user info) at 2005-06-02 08:30:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Broken ribs eh?
Lies.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-06-02 08:11:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Chillax, pretty safe bet you can assume nothing on Über is gospel truth.
Submitted by HadToBeDone (user info) at 2005-06-02 07:47:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
HAHAHAHAHAAA! Fat Tony got FUCKED UP!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-06-02 07:22:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
"thats the kind of man my dad was"
what a thug and a bully?
Submitted by Chillax (user info) at 2005-06-02 07:20:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
However, much like the FT debate, this is written as if it were true. Therefore, I can point out that it sounds a little fake.
If it were obviously meant to be not taken seriously in points, that's sweet. But this is written as if it were gospel truth.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-06-02 06:43:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Poetic license.
A story is a story. You cannot go around assuming everything you read on uber is true.
Submitted by Chillax (user info) at 2005-06-02 06:27:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Sounds a litte vividly-recalled to be entirely true (you appear to remember every single blow).
Submitted by Twiddle (user info) at 2005-06-02 06:10:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
great i only wish he would have killed that sick bastard
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-06-02 06:08:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cycle of violence.
Your daddy is a vigilante, and needed to be brought to justice.
Submitted by Jungle_Jimanee (user info) at 2005-06-02 05:51:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by hobbs (user info) at 2005-06-02 05:29:47 (#)
Ranking: 2
Your dad seems like a mans man.
Possibly a bit too far, though I could not say that in the same situation I wouldn't do worse.
Submitted by Siren (user info) at 2005-06-02 05:48:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Sweet! Reminds me of the scene in "To Wong Foo: Thanks for everything, Julie Newmar." Only with less transvestites.
I'm ready for more of this.
Submitted by ICO (user info) at 2005-06-02 05:36:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Do tell.
Submitted by hobbs (user info) at 2005-06-02 05:29:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Your dad seems like a mans man.