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Wisps Posts Tagged as 'Father'

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When my favorite aunt announced to the family that my father had raped her throughout her early teens, I believed her and granted her support. My sister discarded it as the ravings of an alcoholic and my mother sought to investigate the situation.

Mother asked me...

"why would my aunt continue to hang out with us as a family if she was so perturbed by the incident? She must've enjoyed it then."

"I don't know," I told her. "It's her experience, ask her."

My mother never asked and remained unmoved by the discussion as my aunt's confession became a family joke. It hurts that my amazons couldn't unite with her. 23-Apr-2018

Tags: Family, Father, Hypocrisy, Mother, Sister, Support, Violence, Youth




I had to trek to the future to find out that in the past I was a twink, my father a brawling gangster, my mother a mental distortion and my sister a secret strategist. 05-Feb-2018

Tags: Father, Labels, Mother, Sister, Society




The first time I saw a gun, I was a toddler, my mother was wielding it to shoot my father. She shot once, almost hitting her baby brother, before being subjugated.

The first time I felt a gun, I was fifteen, it was pressed against my temple and my mother, who was suffering from a breakup, threatened me with leaving home or dying. I was so exhausted by her instability, I chose death. I closed my eyes and waited for the bang but she chose to spread her boyfriend's clothes in the family room, blocking my exit, and start a fire which I proceeded to extinguish.

The first time I held a gun was to steal it from my mother whilst she vented to her older sister, with the idea of returning it to the idiot that thought she could handle it.

I called my father, explained and pleaded with him to take his gift back. If I could bring it to him he would get rid of it. I put it in a paper bag, headed out and traipsed an hour by subway in panic, sweats and paranoia. I shivered at the presence of police but I didn't rest until it was in my father's hands and out of our lives. My father never allowed her to retrieve the gift and it was one of the most sympathetic gestures my father ever extended to me.

I fought my way out of misery, the ghetto, my mother, without the need for a physical weapon or a gang. I think its why my words are so striking. 04-Jan-2018

Tags: Father, Guns, Mother