My junior year was a bumfuzel. Every day dad was on a bender. There were three of us kids, but mom and dad forgot what birth control meant and there was soon to be a fourth.🤦‍♀️ Cracking out an awesome 17 1/2 years between me the oldest and baby four.
Geez, probably every other week dad and I would get into it over nothing. (Remind me to clarify—nothing —later). Blind rage is a violent monster that knows no bounds. And what is as bad is that the delivery guy doesn’t remember a damn thing—hence BLIND!
From the far side of the family room he would sit with his glass contained, always drained- manhattans. Until the unintentional spark that would ignite him into a charging bull. Run Viv-Run Viv! Up the stairs, slam my door with rage right behind. Out the door, up the hill to the Black’s house—run vivienne! The viper stopped at the door—he seldom came outside with his wrath. Excuse me while I breath a minute and have a smoke—this is tough stuff.
Sometimes I was fast enough to make it to my room and slam the door and lock it. I became proficient at a one motion slam and lock! He would pound and beat the door till the windows shook. Other times I wouldn’t be fast enough and he would make it into the room, chase me across the bed and down the stairs I would go—out the door. In my mind I knew the bed couldn’t be too close to the wall—think ahead. Run Viv run.
Let’s think about the Blacks—how often should a young woman show up at your door because of a violent father?
Beautiful life 