Friendly Fire

Long ago, in my first "adult" life, I was a father figure to three young children... titles earned not by service, but rather by situational placement. I wasn't an adult, but I pretended to be... living with a woman nine years older than me and three children, playing house. The youngest child was 4 yrs old when I came into his life... it was a shared custody arrangement, so I only saw him on selected days. Anyway, for some reason, this kid troubled me greatly... perhaps it was the constant dramatic encores of his father or the fact I couldn't treat him like the other children. I began to hate this innocent child with the fiercest of passions. I isolated him socially... openly treating him differently with stricter displays of affection than the other children received. I would tease, belittle and called him "Jarhead"... I thought he was mirror image of his violent father, only knowing and thinking what he was instructed. When the kids would misbehave I would physically punish them... in the same fashion that my father disciplined me. I wasn't able to physically discipline this child or his father would press charges against me... although it was appropriate for his own father to act in such a manner. I devised a way to punish him mentally instead... it seems my inner ire wasn't satisfied with the destruction I'd already inflicted upon him. I would torture this poor child for hours on end with meaningless experiments created from within. If I was aware of a certain fear of his, in a time of discipline I would exploit that fear to my advantage... the psychological damage I caused this poor, sweet boy are unimaginable. I can still hear his screams of terror in the dark... forever etched in my mind and tattooed upon my soul. How could I have ever hurt something as pure as a child? I'm not proud of these moments in the least... these memories haunt me. I wasn't a good man nor father... I was a monster, thrashing wildly and destroying any trace of innocence as often as possible. Today is Father's Day... a day to honor the fathers that actually raised their children and protected them from harm. A day to honor their service, sacrifice and unconditional love. Today, on this special day, he wrote to me... wishing me a Happy Father's Day. After all of these years, webbed in those memories... this day, of all days, was the first time I've talked to him since we parted ways long ago. The choir has grown quiet and I am left alone to decipher these vibrations... like shrapnel ripping through my organs, as the bile feasts upon me from the inside out. God... I fucking hate this holiday.