“My father tried to slap me, but I was not 15 anymore”

ATWith my father, we waste our lives arguing. I have tried to understand for years, but there is nothing to understand. In any case, I will never know his reasons – if he does know them himself.

When my parents divorced, my mother was already ill and she preferred that I stay with my father. She died when I was 7 years old. As a child, I was often on my own. My father worked a lot, left early and came home late, I managed. We lived in a former relay of horses in the Sarthe, an enormous hut with seven rooms. In the morning, I would say hi to her by the window, then I would prepare myself, I had lunch, I walked to school – at the time, it was done. In the evening, the same. This autonomy, I put up with it.

Belt blows

I built myself alone. With all this freedom, there were times when I needed a frame. I’m not just talking about sanctions, but quite simply a presence. But he only worked in punishment, and in the old fashioned way. Homework not done? Bad grades? A badly tidy room? It was belt strikes. When we are children, we suffer. It is later, when the balance of power changes, that things change.

“I had become strong. He saw that I could hurt him. So he told me to go away. “

In 1995, I was a young adult, I was 20 years old. My father had rebuilt his life with another woman, I had a brother and a sister of 4 and 5 years old. We were then living near Toulon. When they moved to Normandy, I stayed in the South, in Marseille, where I was studying because I wanted to be an oceanographer. At Christmas, we gathered at their house, with my father, my mother-in-law, the children and my maternal grandmother, with whom I am very close. Usually we would go to my paternal grandparents. There were always tensions and arguments at Christmas, but it didn’t go very far because there was the framework: my father’s parents, uncles and aunts …

This time my dad was obnoxious from the start. The evening started well: a beautiful table, a good meal, everything you need. But he had a very aggressive and haughty attitude towards his companion. He spoke badly to her, treated her like a boniche. Deep down inside, I was starting to boil. At one point, he must have said something to her like “it’s overcooked” or “you’re really doing anything”, and there I couldn’t be silent. I told him to stop. The tone rose fairly quickly, despite the presence of my grandmother, who was trying to calm things down. We quickly came to blows: I think he tried to slap me, but I didn’t have any more. 15 years, I had become strong. He saw that I could hurt him. So he told me to go away.

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