Dad’s Fine With Me

What the hell is he doing? Gassing a frog? That's not right. My brain calculated as terrifying and sick things clashed, messing up my stomach and mind. Goosebumps sprouted like braille on paper.

Jimmy, my cousin, caused us more trouble every time he visited. I was horrified as I saw Jimmy's eyes dance with excitement at the flaming frog leaping around.

What a hack! I turned away, helpless—the young girl in me couldn't save it. Even though I was woozy-legged and my stomach was turning at the horrible sight, it gave me strength.

#

Jimmy's actions bordered on gory. He was the only boy in his house, and he could do no wrong. Despite their differences, our fathers loved booze and cigarettes, which dominated their worlds.

A living drunk, my uncle slept much of his life. However, my cruel, drunk dad called him sir. He took his belt to the three youngsters when he could. A class ‘A’ bully who made us remember.

#

Jimmy instructed, “Don’t talk about what happened here today. Don't say a word. The frog was stupid, just like you.” He hit his other hand with his fist. Two years older than me (Jimmy), my brother, who is the same age as Jimmy, said nothing. The scene was dreadful for me; I knew. I fled a predator on the plains like a gazelle seeking home.

My hunger disappeared at supper hours later.

"Are you hungry, Josie?" Mom asked cheerfully. “We girls must eat well to maintain our courage and decision-making skills, which are difficult sometimes. But you're doing such a wonderful job at it. I say keep it up, girl.”

My body stopped shaking, I couldn't eat. I sat up straight.

The conversation slowed after a few minutes. My dad began his normal behaviour with me this time. Where he knew something that I didn't know, he knew.

"Josie, you're pale. Are you sick?" My dad inquired.

“My stomach hurts,” I remarked, glancing at my plate.

“Oh?" Dad said knowingly, "When did that start?" I assumed he knew why because my uncle informed him that Jimmy told his dad we did it. I sweated in horror as a knot developed in my throat and a bag of fireworks went off in my stomach. Before I knew it, I had been clearing the table.

After cleaning the table, my dad brought my brother and me outside.

“Do you kids like all our farm animals?” He shouted. “Look at me, dammit, while I’m talking!” His eyes were burning holes through my back; I just knew it.

Jumping, we turned to see him.

He yelled, “Do you kids like all the animals we have on our farm?” His voice became louder, like a thunderclap. He was angry, yet his tone saddened. I had to speak up because of his wild, inebriated stare.

Shakily, I said, “Yes, sir. I do, sir.” My brother remained silent. Though I shivered, I knew not responding to him would be worse.

“Who had the stupid idea of burning a frog with our pump’s gasoline? It burned as you sons of bitches watched. Answer me?”

His alcohol-fueled rage twisted my insides; sweat dripped from my back into my underwear's elastic waistband and pants.

“Yes, sir. Neither of us was involved, sir. It was all Jimmy, sir,” I said, my eyes fixed on the ground ahead of me by a few feet.

“Your cousin Jimmy gave a different story. He blamed you two for everything.” My father gritted his teeth.

"He lied, sir. He did it and intimidated us into silence, sir. I’m tired of him visiting here on weekends, sir. He never faces consequences for his actions—he's a goof! Sir.” Enraged, I peered into my dad's eyes, ignoring my tumultuous insides.

"I knew better than to trust the rumour he fed your uncle. I'll watch Jimmy. He may benefit from a quick ass-kicking.” He drank Molson Canadian beer and laughed weirdly.

#

After Jimmy and his dad returned the next weekend, his harassment began.

“I told you to keep quiet. What are you two, idiots? He sneered and flipped his head.

Turning, I faced him. "What did you say?" My voice was commanding. I approached him, but he was a high jump stick away.

"You heard me.” He repeated it with a mocking smirk.

I snapped and ran head-first into his belly, knocking him on his ass. Then I kicked his head, shins, and behind while he lay there. He recoiled his arms around his head and gazed upward. I looked into his eyes, saying, “We’re done with you.”

I headed to the barn afterward to finish my outside chores: watering, feeding, haying, and bedding our dapple grey pony, Misty. 

My father and uncles stood outside the "shop," laughing, but I didn't have a clue as to why. 

I used to think you dealt with bullies by ignoring them. Now, I hope Jimmy understands bullying from being bullied and realizes he's a coward. 

***

The next day, my father---like Howler Monkeys in Costa Rica at 5:00 a.m.,---chatted through the morning news—unusual for him. Terrified, I listened, hearing I had passed his test of being violent while sticking up for myself. By mimicking him, he smiled at me, but my anxiety rose like an ocean wave with momentum that washed over me.

“Josie, Dad’s fine with me. Don’t call me sir anymore.”

Did my stand against a bully make him happy? He was thrilled with me. But why? Because I had kept up my notion of no-nonsense anymore? I wasn't sure.

# 

The school bus ride was great. I was grateful for my family and their support. Reflecting on it made me smile from ear to ear. I wouldn't let bullies terrify me again. Mom and Dad supported me in different ways. I constantly heard my mother cheering. My father was proud of me because I stopped being bullied and was no longer a victim.

It was a fantastic day because I knew I could conquer the world and become anyone. Delighted, another event happened on the bus. I remembered Helen Reddy's “I Am Woman; Hear Me Roar,” one of my mom's favourites. Finally, I understood. 

I was excited to tell my mom that afternoon after school about my latest short story. It was about a child who finds gratitude and strength in the face of bullying and stands up for herself. In so doing, she realizes the acceptance she sought from her father. On the journey, Josie discovered how the outcome changed her outlook on life, beginning with hers. She smiled a watermelon smile from ear to ear to home on the bus that day.

THE END

WC: 1021

Originally published by Half and One @ halfandone.com