Beaten but Not Broken

It was the kind of warmth that surrounded you like a soft blanket. The sun was shining. The scent of worms was wafting it’s way to my nostrils. I was where I wanted to be. I had a pole in my hand and beside me were my sister and my dad just enjoying the quiet moment we had the joy of sharing together. This is how it always starts. Then I fuck it up. As my dad was baiting his hook with his pole on the ground, my wild, ADD laden self ran across the pole and I kicked it as I passed by. I knew instantly I was screwed when I heard the growl from my dad’s throat as the hook pricked his thumb from my blunder. Instantly he rushed me and with his muscular hands, he threw me to the ground. Fight or flight, this is what our low brain instantly retreats to. So of course in such fashion, I folded into the fetal position and squeezed my eyelids shut just as I saw his foot cock back to deliver what was sure to be a breath taking blow to my center mass. As I clenched in anticipation, I heard him walk off, muttering to himself. The rage was drained from his face but I knew those eyes. That resentment for having a son that was so uncoordinated. Why couldn’t I just be normal? Why did I have to remind him constantly what a fool he had for a son? Why couldn’t I make him proud? Never enough...