Generally, because my birthday is 2 days before July 4th, I would usually get a birthday party the 2nd weekend in July and we would do something special the day of, like go out to eat or let me have a friend over. My birthdays were generally hit or miss with some going good and others being miserable. One birthday my mom burned me with a curling iron because she was so obsessed with me having my hair curled that day. My 12th birthday was no different. Despite my birthdays being hit or miss, I always looked forward to them with excitement, hoping that it would be a special day for me.
The night before my 12th birthday, I had my best friend over to stay the night in anticipation for my birthday. Generally, my best friend and I got together pretty often, especially considering the short distance between my house and hers. Her and I got along pretty well but it wouldn't be a surprise if we got in a typical elementary/middle school argument. They happened pretty frequently when we were together, but generally lasted no more than an hour. My parents generally ignored our silly arguments and let us work it out on our own.
So my friend was over at my house and we had fun playing for that night. We played normally like we had many times before.
The next morning we woke up on my birthday with plans to celebrate. We were going to have a cake and go out to eat and just have a good time. But that all changed as the day progressed. My friend and I started another silly argument over something minor, maybe it was something she siad or something we did. I don't exactly remember. Anyways, our fight escalated and we started yelling at each other. I remember feeling angry and frustrated with her as we fought.
The next thing I remember is my dad grabbing the stick and storming up the stairs. I was terrified as he came up the stairs. All I could think or say was "no, no, no" feeling dread because I knew what was going to happen. My mom trailed quickly behind my dad, making sure to prepare my friend for what was about to happen. My mom grabbed my friend's hand and drug her out to the hallway. My room was straight back from the stairs so there wasn't really any way to shield her from what was about to happen, other than stick her in another room which my mom was not prepared to do because the only options were my brother's room, my parent's room or a bathroom, none of which were good options for her.
Once my friend was out in the hall, my dad proceeded to start screaming at me. I was sitting in my computer chair at the time so he had to bend over to scream in my face which he did. He would scream bout what a horrible child I was. First on hit on my thigh., then other on the other leg. He kept going, hit both of my upper arms. I was crying and begging him to stop, that I would be good and not argue with my friend. I can remember the snapping sound as the stick hit my arms and legs and the image of the stick being whacked against my body. I was completely terrified of my dad and what he was capable of doing. I was terrified that he would even go as far ass dragging me out of the chair and getting to me that way, and I was thankful that he didn't. Eventually, he was satisfied with what he had done and got up to leave, flashing me his anger face as he walked out of the room, stick still in strike mode in his hand. My friend was allowed back in my room as I was still crying. I was so mad at her, that she got me in such big trouble. I tried to calm myself down as quick as possible, trying to make sure my dad didn't hear me get upset with her. At the time, I blamed her for what happened, like there was some way that she could have stopped it. In reality, she had no power in the situation, was as powerless as I was. But I asked her why, way she had let it happen, why my parents favored her over me. Obviously, she had no answers for me, but was apologetic. We stayed in my room for a while until her family came and picked her up. Once she left, I was called down to the "play room", the room at the bottom level of the house. When I came downstairs, my dad was inspecting different aspects of the room to determine whether it was clean to his standards. But it wasn't. He ran his hand along the back of a shelf and came back with dust on his hand. This pissed him off even more which made me all the more scared, considering what had happened not too long before that. I had no idea what to expect at that point.
Because the room had not been cleaned to his standards, he decided to take a new approach. He started telling my brother and I about his grand plan to have us make signs with different humiliating statements like "I disrespect my parents" or "I don't listen" and make us stand on a street corner holding up the signs. He had gotten the idea from a news article he had seen. I remember feeling terrified and wondering when this would take place and what corner he was going to put us on and when we would make the signs and from what materials. I felt humiliated by mad even though it hadn't happened yet. I had hoped that my dad was not serious when he decided this was his new plan, since he was laughing and cracking up at himself.
At the end of the day, he seemed to have temporarily put down his plan and in place decided that we needed to clean the entire house all over again, up to his military standards, "spotless" as he called it, a standard we could never meet but were always expected to.
The day ended on that sour note, no celebration or anything. My birthday had been quickly forgotten and normal life began again.
Two weeks later, I still had the welts from the beating. I remember telling my friends over instant messenger about them, and describing them to them. I remember them telling me I should get it looked at by a doctor. I remember examining the welts and being terrified by the sight of them. I knew going to a doctor was never an option, especially considering where the welts were located, in places which could easily be hidden by clothing. My parents cared little about the welts and eventually they healed.
It was the worst birthday ever.
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