No bedtime and getting to eat whatever I wanted was a dream childhood. At least as a kid it seemed that way. My friends were all jealous of me when I brought a lunch bag full of junk food to school every day. My dad’s coolness was almost mythical at school. When the teachers called to tell him that I was being a problem in school, he told them to fuck off and just deal with it. He didn’t like authority. Neither did I. The only conflict we had was when he became that authority, or more times than not, when I became the one that needed to fuck off.

Boys look up to their fathers. When you grow up with a single dad, you do more than just look up to them. They become your god. They are the one who protects you and feeds you. They show you the way through the darkness. They are also the one who brings wrath down on you when you screw up. Or whenever you just happen to piss them off.

As awesome as my dad was most of the time, there were parts of him that I didn’t share with anyone. Whenever I would do something I wasn’t supposed to do, or break something while I was playing soccer in the house, the other side of him would come out. The mean side.

One day in particular brought that side of him completely out. It terrified me and sticks with me even now. I was staring at the window blinds in my room. The rod they connected to at the top had broken off and fallen. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to put it back up but it only fell again. This time it was worse than before. My dad walked in on me trying to put it back up. When I turned around I expected him to be mad. He wasn’t. Not yet. Instead he was laughing at me.

“Break something?” He said.

“No. I didn’t do it. It was already like this when I got here. I swear.”

“It’s okay. You break things all the time. This isn’t even that bad. Just don’t lie about it.”

“I’m not lying. I didn’t do it.”

Like all kids, regardless of if they did something or not, when defending themselves their voices began to raise and tears began to well up. This usually wasn’t a reaction based on fear, but anger. It was obvious he wasn’t mad and was going to just fix the problem. It would have been easier to just let it go. Something so small like window blinds wasn’t worth getting in a fight over. It wasn’t the place to take a stand. But as kids we don’t know that. Every hill is hill to die on. Letting things go wasn’t an option.

“I don’t care about the damn blinds. But you not taking responsibility for it. That’s going to piss me off.”

I could sense how irritated he was getting. General rule of thumb was to not poke the bear. But I had already decided to fight. Not much thought went into it. He could have walked away, but he didn’t. I wasn’t going to either.

“I didn’t FUCKING DO IT!”

The change was instantaneous. Parents could cuss at their kids and be okay. Once the kid cussed back the line was crossed. It was game fucking on. My dad’s mean side was easy to spot. He had a look of unmatchable anger. His eyes locked in on you like you were the worst thing in the world. His face scrunched up like he was trying to keep a fire inside of him. Like he was being burned from the inside and needed to breathe the fire out, roasting whatever was in front of him. I would learn later that this was the face he made before he threw a pitch in baseball. He was the meanest, and the best pitcher on his high school team. His height didn’t match up with other boys, but his curve ball sure did. He had articles describing his box scores. 9, 10, 11 strike outs every game. The look he gave the hitters though. It was the look that said I’m going to fucking take your head off with this next pitch. They all believed him and would dive out of the way of a pitch heading their way. Then it would curve over the plate for strike three. He had mastered that look. It drove fear into me every time I saw it.

“If you thought I was going to be mad before then you don’t know what’s coming. I’ll show you what mad fucking looks like!” He yelled.

I flinched at his words. That was a big mistake. My father never hit me. But when his rage was coming at me I always instinctively felt the need to flinch. Even if you’ve never been bit by a shark, you would still flinch if it jumped out of the water and opened its jaws a few feet from your face.

“YOU THINK I’M GOING TO HIT YOU? WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE THAT?”

I was fully crying now. I couldn’t form words. I couldn’t look up. I was just stuck in place bawling and looking at the ground.

“Stay in your room! Don’t come out until I say so. Fucking hit you? If that’s what you think of me then maybe I should just send you to your mother. See how you like that!”

“NO! PLEASE DON’T!”

I was able to get those words out but he had already left and slammed the door behind him. Even in the worst of moments, I didn’t want to leave. I had the easy life. The life of no rules. The life all of my friends wanted. Getting sent to live with my mother was the greatest weapon he had. The biggest swing he would ever take at me. In hind sight there would have been nothing wrong with being sent to live with my mother. I would have turned out just fine. But parents that split up resented each other most of the time. My dad got custody of me and his opinion of my mother wasn’t a good one. He avoided talking about her at all and I was too young to remember anything about her. All I knew was what he told me and he made her out to be a witch.

I stood alone with my tears. I had controlled my breathing and was starting to quiet down. I could still hear heavy breathing though. At first I thought it was coming from the living room but it sounded too close. I lifted my head and listened closer. It was coming from my closet. I walked over to my closet to investigate. The breathing was definitely coming from there. I stood on the outside of it and kept thinking I should just leave. I should get the hell out of the room. But I couldn’t. I had been ordered to stay. The only thing that would piss my dad off more would be to disobey that order and leave. I could sense something bad on the other side of the door, but I had to open it.

When I opened it I was still half looking at the ground. There was smoke in the closet. I followed the smoke up until I was looking straight ahead. Then I moved the clothes in front of me aside. My father with his pitching face was staring at me. Smoke was literally coming off of his head.

“Hey asshole. This is what mad looks like.”

He pushed me hard. I went flying back and hit the ground hard. The wind was knocked out of me. I tried to find air but couldn’t. My eyes were still locked on my dad as he came out of the closet at me. He kneeled over me and held me down.

“Always a fucking problem. You’re lucky that you made it this long without a beating. I got the belt when I was a kid. All you ever get is a stern talking to. This generation is soft. Not just the kids. The parents also. All of them so fucking spineless. Well you’re going to get a history lesson today. You are going to feel it. I promise you that.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I saw him leave. Or at least I thought I did. When I thought back on it I was still looking down. I heard the door close but I never actually saw him leave. I didn’t know why he hid in the closet or why now was the time for all of this. But it was happening. I could feel my bowels trying to release but I wasn’t letting them. I was terrified. But I was also looking for a way out. Part of me wasn’t going to let this happen. Or at least wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I finally caught my breath and then screamed at him. That’s when I heard the footsteps. They were coming fast down the hall. My door burst open. My father was on the other side of it.

He looked at me on the floor. He looked at the other version of himself holding me down with that look of hate. He couldn’t process what was happening. Just like I couldn’t. He knew I was in danger though.

“Hey there. Ready to actually do something about this little shits bad attitude?” The Mean One said.

My father was still in shock. He was looking at another version of himself. His son was on the ground with some supernatural thing over him. Maybe even something of his own creation. Now that I knew the thing above me wasn’t my real dad, my decision on what to do was a lot easier. I made my own mean face and then lifted my knee hard into his crotch. He yelled out in pain and loosened his grip just enough for me slip away towards the door.

“You fucking asshole! No belt for you. Just my fists!”

My father grabbed me and pulled me out of the room before shutting it. The Mean One banged on the other side. His fists were crashing against the door and it was starting to splinter. He had strength that no normal person had. My dad was holding the door closed.

“Get out of here! Go outside!” he said.

“No! I’m not leaving you here!”

I ran up to try and help him hold the door. The hinge made a breaking sound and then the door was ripped away from us and out of the frame. The Mean One threw the door down. He had smoke billowing off his body now. The look was still on his face. It was fixed on both of us. My dad took my hand and we both headed to the living room. The Mean One was coming down the hall at us. We weren’t going to be able to make it out the front door of the apartment. He was closing in too fast. In the living room my dad had me go behind him and he took a fighting stance. He always told me to not let anyone fuck with me. In this family we took a stand and fought.

The Mean One was now in a run with the smoke trailing behind him. My dad got ready to throw a punch even if he knew he couldn’t compete with the inhuman strength of the thing coming at him. He never had to throw that punch though. There was a soccer ball in the hall that we had somehow avoided when we came into the living room. The Mean One wasn’t so lucky. He was so focused on us that he wasn’t looking where he was stepping. His foot stepped directly on the soccer ball and sent him flying forward. His momentum brought him into the living room. He turned his body to try and not fall on his face but it didn’t help. His body turned to face up towards the ceiling and his head hit the side of the coffee table. The cracking sound filled the living room. He was on the ground. No movement was noticeable. We both watched as the body faded away and turned to smoke. Soon the smoke was gone too.

My dad was calmer after that day. I also made sure to not react so quickly to things. There are times to get angry, but most of the time anger doesn’t solve anything. We didn’t talk about that day again. We both knew what we had seen. No one else would have believed us. There was more to it for me though. There was something my dad didn’t see. Something only I saw. The ball that The Mean One had stepped on wasn’t there when we had gone through the hallway. We hadn’t just missed it. It just wasn’t there. While my dad was looking at the meanest version of himself turn to smoke on the ground, I was watching the hallway. Standing near the front door closet, just around the corner from the hallway was another version of myself. The mean version. The one who had kicked the ball into the hallway. In his left hand he was playing with three screws. Screws that I have no doubt came from the window blinds. He was looking at me with his own horrible look. The look I made when I was accused of something I knew I didn’t do. The look I made when I kneed assholes in the crotch. His right hand came up and he placed his index finger in front of his mouth, telling me to keep quiet about this. Then he disappeared into the closet, a faint trace of smoke left in his wake.