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The Day I Spoke Up

This wasn’t going to end well for me. The day had already gotten off to a bad start. Cramming my size thirty two ass into a a size thirty pair of pants, I refused to believe that I had gained that much weight, and then hearing the slow tear of my my favorite jeans as I secured the final button, it broke my heart. Being a two hundred pound sixth grader was a tough gig.

My father was waiting for me at the breakfast table that morning. He was on food patrol.
“Do you really think you should be eating that,” he asked. Knowing which wounds to rub the salt in took an expert torturer, but my father was no pro, he went for the gaping hole in my chest. Reminding me I was fat wasn’t going to make me skinny. Just like reminding him that he was a drug dealing scum bag, wasn’t going to make him anymore of a father.

I inhaled a sausage and smiled at him. The back-hand was quick and precise. My father the mathematician, the answer to solve “x” was always a slap in the face. A trickle of blood oozed out of my nose down into my mouth.

“You’re going to respect me boy, or you’re going to to be really damn sore,” he said.

“Fuck you!” I replied. Yep, that shit came out of my mouth. I felt like a foot soldier in the German army. The one who just told Hitler that his mustache looked like shit. Speaking of shit, I was in it, and deep.