I remember that horrific night like it was yesterday. It was a cold blistery December night. My father and I were traveling on Route 41 near the Delaware National Guard Armory. The freezing raining stuck to the windshield so thick the wiper blades became bound. The glare of the oncoming headlight beaming through the ice blinding us both and in a flash our car veered into the pole.
I’ll never forget seeing the backend of the hood coming through the windshield like a razor blade through paper. The horrible sight of seeing father’s face sliced so deep I could see his spine. His right hand holding mine quivering like a fish out of water. Within two minutes which felt like two hours father had expired. Being only eight years old I just cried for help as my leg with a bone piercing through it bled in the freezing rain blowing through the broken windshield. I passed out and only remember the flashing red lights reflecting off the side glass of the ambulance.
At the grave side funeral everyone cried and mother all dress in black wiped her eyes on the flag draped coffin. I tried to comfort her but my wheelchair became stuck in the mud.
Mother blames me because I insisted that my father take me to McDonalds. For about four years my mother treated me like an unwanted puppy. I lived off of Swanson’s TV dinner and Kool-aid for four sad years. My mother not a drinker before the death of my father drank daily. I would hide under my bed but she would find me and drag me out by my leg. She would beat me with the blood stained belt my father wore on that December night. It all came to an abrupt end the night my mother shot herself with the captured German Luger my father brought home from the war. I cried over her body saying I am sorry for father’s death.
The next 6 years I shuffled from family member to family member. I just cried days on end. It wasn’t until years later when I met Mike Matthews of Down with Absolute I felt some sense of self-esteem. He accepted me as friend poor grammar and all. But just like that flash on that cold December night Mike Matthews pierced my heart. I tried my best to get Christine O’Donnell to like him but she was lifeless as my father’s cold body. Just another chapter in my life kicked to the curb by Mike Matthews who blames me and Protack for his unhappiness as a blogger. If you were able to feel any sense of emotion reading this bogus piece of bullshit, I must say even with poor grammar I can touch those willing to overlook my sorry ass grammar. If you struggled to read this far and still feel I am useless then bite me.