I was raised with a violence father. It happened almost every day. My mother tried to stop it but could not. He would get drunk and come home to beat one of us or both. He was very mean. The police would not do anything to him. He got away with everything he did. No matter how bad it was. I would often think I would never make it. His temper was always in his way. He would start fights with everyone. No one was safe around him. He put holes in the walls. Put needles in my arms when I was only two or three to see me cry. Never said a kind word to me or my mother. Unless he was not drinking. Which was hardly ever. He was in the Army when I was born. When he got back. He made it clear he did not want me or love me. When I was three he made me ride a bull. I am lucky I did not get killed. My mother was so scared. Then my mother had my sister and she was sick. She died in my arms while I was rocking her. He kept saying why did you live instead of her. I did not know
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