P1 First Person: From abused child to cop
Friday night always ended the same way. I always dreaded getting of the school bus on Friday afternoon. Friday night was “Family Night” in our house, where we would eat frozen pizza and gather around to play a nice family game of Monopoly.
When my father’s monopoly move didn’t end up the way he wanted, a psychotic rage would ensue. The monopoly board would be thrown across the living room, and my helpless mother would be pinned in the corner of the room, the recipient of repeated blows to the head by my “God Fearing” father.
When my poor innocent sister would scream out for him to stop beating our mother, he would commence to beating her next. All of this would be followed up just two days later, as we’d sit listening to him pound the pulpit of “his” church, telling his congregation that they would be burning in Hell if they were homosexual, or if they didn’t give up the alcohol and cigarettes.