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Thread: The only time my father hit me

  1. #1
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    Default The only time my father hit me

    A comment elsewhere reminded me that my father's birthday is coming up.

    God bless his soul, and may he forgive me for saying that, since he was a devoted atheist.

    I remember the only time on my life when my father hit me.

    It happened when I was about 14 years old. I remember that it was an icy winter afternoon and my father was working away at the kitchen counter with a screwdriver in hand, fixing a toaster. I had entered the kitchen to raid the frig.

    It must have been a Sunday because Dad was at home, and Dad was only at home during the daytime on Sundays, because on every other day of the week he was out of the house working at his job as a union organizer.

    Just as I was about half-way through a pastrami sandwich, my older brother burst into the room with exciting news. He had just won four tickets to a St. Michaels Majors Junior A hockey game in a raffle.

    St. Mike’s was a private Catholic high school in our neighbourhood. It catered to Toronto’s Irish.

    My family weren’t Irish Catholics. They were Polish-Russian Jews. In fact there were very few Irish Catholics in our neighbourhood.

    Many of our neighbours were Calabrians from Italians, and there were also a fair number of Orthodox Slavs, and then came Protestants from Ulster, and the rest were a smattering of Newfoundlanders and Germans and we even had a Japanese family that lived up the street.

    Aside from us there were a couple of other Jewish families but no more than a couple. I can’t remember very many people in our neighbourhood who were native-born Canadians.

    But when it came to the St. Mikes’ high school, none of the mattered. The only thing that mattered was that the Majors were our neighbourhood’s Junior A team, and all the kids on the street lived and died on how well they did in the standings.

    And they did pretty good. I remember that Father David Bauer, who was a saint, coached them to the Memorial Cup championship against a team from Edmonton around 1960, and for the rest of the winter every kid in the neighbourhood felt like they lived in the best place on earth, and maybe we were right.

    When my brother Lorry told me that we had four won tickets to a St. Mikes’s game, I asked him who (whom?) he wanted to invite to the game with us. He thought about it for a second and then said, “I’m going to take Francisco Gianotti!” Frank lived just down the street from us, and when my brother played quarterback for our high school team, Frank was his favourite receiver.

    My reply was as follows: “Why should we take him? He’s a Wop!”

    At that moment my father’s back was turned from me as he was worked away on the toaster, and I imagine he wasn‘t paying much attention to the conversation until that point. But when he heard me use the word Wop, he put down the screwdriver, turned around, and slapped me so hard across my face that my hornrim eyeglasses landed 15 feet away down the hallway that exited our family’s kitchen. And that is no exaggeration.

    And then he calmly turned back to the kitchen counter, picked up the screwdriver and when back to work on the toaster.

    This was the only time in my life when my father hit me.

    Sometimes I try to talk to God but I always fail. But when I talk to my father and mother I always feel better.

  2. #2
    Para aquí para acá Jonh's Avatar
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    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    So did the wop get to go to the game?

  3. #3

    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    All this for a flag? Michelle Obama http://hotair.com/archives/2011/11/0...our-years-ago/

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    Viejo del Foro Just Plain John Wayne's Avatar
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    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    The only assin's I got was for Bad conduct in classes....
    To be called a "Has Been" I must surmise, is much Greater than to be called a "Nevah Been"... JW...



  5. #5
    Viejo del Foro bikingo's Avatar
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    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    Quote Originally Posted by Mikeh View Post
    A comment elsewhere reminded me that my father's birthday is coming up.

    God bless his soul, and may he forgive me for saying that, since he was a devoted atheist.

    I remember the only time on my life when my father hit me.

    It happened when I was about 14 years old. I remember that it was an icy winter afternoon and my father was working away at the kitchen counter with a screwdriver in hand, fixing a toaster. I had entered the kitchen to raid the frig.

    It must have been a Sunday because Dad was at home, and Dad was only at home during the daytime on Sundays, because on every other day of the week he was out of the house working at his job as a union organizer.

    Just as I was about half-way through a pastrami sandwich, my older brother burst into the room with exciting news. He had just won four tickets to a St. Michaels Majors Junior A hockey game in a raffle.

    St. Mike’s was a private Catholic high school in our neighbourhood. It catered to Toronto’s Irish.

    My family weren’t Irish Catholics. They were Polish-Russian Jews. In fact there were very few Irish Catholics in our neighbourhood.

    Many of our neighbours were Calabrians from Italians, and there were also a fair number of Orthodox Slavs, and then came Protestants from Ulster, and the rest were a smattering of Newfoundlanders and Germans and we even had a Japanese family that lived up the street.

    Aside from us there were a couple of other Jewish families but no more than a couple. I can’t remember very many people in our neighbourhood who were native-born Canadians.

    But when it came to the St. Mikes’ high school, none of the mattered. The only thing that mattered was that the Majors were our neighbourhood’s Junior A team, and all the kids on the street lived and died on how well they did in the standings.

    And they did pretty good. I remember that Father David Bauer, who was a saint, coached them to the Memorial Cup championship against a team from Edmonton around 1960, and for the rest of the winter every kid in the neighbourhood felt like they lived in the best place on earth, and maybe we were right.

    When my brother Lorry told me that we had four won tickets to a St. Mikes’s game, I asked him who (whom?) he wanted to invite to the game with us. He thought about it for a second and then said, “I’m going to take Francisco Gianotti!” Frank lived just down the street from us, and when my brother played quarterback for our high school team, Frank was his favourite receiver.

    My reply was as follows: “Why should we take him? He’s a Wop!”

    At that moment my father’s back was turned from me as he was worked away on the toaster, and I imagine he wasn‘t paying much attention to the conversation until that point. But when he heard me use the word Wop, he put down the screwdriver, turned around, and slapped me so hard across my face that my hornrim eyeglasses landed 15 feet away down the hallway that exited our family’s kitchen. And that is no exaggeration.

    And then he calmly turned back to the kitchen counter, picked up the screwdriver and when back to work on the toaster.

    This was the only time in my life when my father hit me.
    Sometimes I try to talk to God but I always fail. But when I talk to my father and mother I always feel better.
    that's funny my older brother Marty got sslapped by my ddad when he was twelve. I was ten and wouldn't loan him a quarter and Marty said I was being a Jew. I learned we ain't racist and I learned what Jewish was

  6. #6
    Junkyard Dog randude's Avatar
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    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    I remember getting it for spraying a neighbor in the eyes with a squirt gun with soap in it. His aunt came to our house holding the boy and wanting to know what was in the squirt gun. My ol man freaked out.
    Survivor

  7. #7
    House SOB Little Corn Tom's Avatar
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    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    I do not ever remember my Dad hittting me or giving me a spanking.

    My Mom was a different story. The thing I feared most was the RULER....the wooden one with the metal edge. Mom ran a tight ship.

    However, when I was delivering papers on my paper routes, I had a problem, with dogs. Especially German Shepherds and Boxers. They were not chained up but allowed to run loose, and the paper boy on his bike was fair game for biting ankles and ripping pant legs.

    I was terrified but my Mom was pissed.

    So she armed me with a squirt gun with ammonia and water in it.

    I never had another problem with those dogs. One shot and they learned their lesson.

    I miss her.

    I miss simple solutions.
    Life's different here ... It's a whole 'nother pace.

  8. #8
    TRN Science officer bill_bly_ca's Avatar
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    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    Wooden shoes.. Wooden shoes..

    My Dad could catch me in his wooden shoes while I was in sneakers..

    Only 3 or 4 times, at the right times...
    ==================================================
    Dude !!!.... Its a Canal !!! Can you Dig it ??

  9. #9
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    Default Re: The only time my father hit me

    Heh

    My dad never hit me.

    Was another story with my stepfather and mum. Broken nose, concussion several times, severe beatings, had to jump into the bushes to avoid being run over by self propelled vehicles driven by my step, mum crying in front of me regretting not taking abortion on me.

    I grew resilient.

    I still have fond wishes for them... Like eternal agony from inflammated pubes hairs.




    ----
    By the way, I'm back

  10. #10
    Para aquí para acá Jonh's Avatar
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    Default

    Yes, you're back!

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