As I left the table, my father made me stop dead in my tracks. “Billy,” he said
“Yes Father.”
“There is still a plate on the table.”
“Yes Father,” I replied, still managing to hold all the breakfast plates in my hand.
“I'll get them after.”
“BILLY!” Father shouted. I was not expecting that. “DO NOT YOU DARE USE CONTRACTIONS IN THE BOBSON HOUSEHOLD, IT IS INFORMAL AND NOT POLITE!” I felt as though my ears exploded. He was really loud sometimes. The next thing that happened was a total mistake. I couldn't think.
“I'm sorry Father, I'll sto-” BAM!
And that's basically my morning. Doing something wrong, getting yelled at, and finally resulting in getting punched in the gut. I used to hate it, I mean I still…show more content… BAM! I fell to the ground loudly. As I suspected, one of the employees came over to help me up. As he pulled me up, I whispered, “Help me, my father is abusive, please.” I whispered silently. But then, the employee’s eyes didn't show the pity I was expecting, the employee just got up and left. Just like that.
I have been pondering what happened that day. Right after the incident with the employee, Father beat me again. Even harder than last time. I think that I know why the employee did that. First of all, I think I know what Father was talking about in that phone call now. When he said, “Pay….Don't….Son…..Punch…..” I pieced it together to something like this: I will pay you if you don't tell anyone that I punch my son. I have to end this. It has gone too…show more content… I hope it will work. It was dinner time and tonight there wasn't any annoying employees. Father was going out tonight with his friends. It was the perfect opportunity for my fairly simple plan. He left an hour ago. I wanted to see if he would come back. Apparently, he didn't, so my plan would be easy. I creeped along the creaky wood floors silently as I could as if Father would suddenly appear and punch the living daylights out of me. Then I realized that I forgot a flashlight. “Dang.” I whispered to myself. I was almost there when a low hum of the fridge originated in the room. Now to find the phone, I thought to myself. I got up and felt the walls, anticipating the satisfying touch of the cold metal. Finally, I found it, and sntached it down. I sighed with relief as I dialed the number: 911 I lay on my bed, thinking about how to stop my father. I need to find a weakness in his ways. He was beaten me twice. Apparently, he killed the internet right before he left, and got an alert saying I called 911. But I have decided something. I won't give up, so I have another plan: Find his weakness.
If this plan doesn't work, nothing will, I thought, as Father and I ate breakfast. I sat there stared at the dry potatoes that Father always makes. He thinks they make me tough. Like I need to be tough. I decided I didn't want to wait any longer and said,
“May I use the
