I want to kill my dad

'My mum killed my dad with a hammer but I want her freed'

i want to kill my dad


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My parents had been married for 26 years before my father killed my mother one Saturday afternoon in in the alley behind his computer shop where we used to live. I was 18 when she died and I remember it vividly. He had struck her just minutes before, leaving a mark to bloom on the right side of her face. After he attacked her, mama and I agreed to meet outside and leave for a while. My father followed closely behind us and when we were all outside together, he blocked our path. He insisted I go back inside the shop. After resisting for some time, I finally walked a few yards away from where we were standing and watched in horror as my father pulled his gun from behind his back.

But now I understand how even weapons that are never fired can wound us for life. I stand sweating and anxious in a downtown Seattle courthouse. I am here to perform the frequently groaned about, but required responsibility as a citizen jury duty. I am 32 and have reported for jury duty twice, but have never been called in for questioning. For this case, a high-profile gang-related shooting, every single person who showed up is questioned.

He had probably been exposed to it as a junior doctor ; the pipes lining the staff corridors were lagged with asbestos fibre. This felt particularly cruel when my dad was seven, his father died from an asthma attack, and it had haunted him all his life. We took turns in the sick room, keeping Dad company as he breathed five breaths and stopped for 30 seconds, five more breaths and stopping again, the sound interspersed with the swoosh of the morphine pump. His mind was as sharp as ever, and I read to him to help pass the time. For a week we were all in limbo, in a spotlight of grief and shock. Sometimes we spoke about whether we should kill him if we could bring ourselves to do it but it was in an abstract way.

Stabbing horror: I loved my dad so why did I kill him?

I HATE MY DAD (Why I Beat Up My Dad)

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I was nine and I absolutely idolised him. Afterwards, Mum would be curled up on the ground, sobbing and covered in bruises. But Dad would go back to his caring, loving ways. The good always outweighed the bad, which made it so much harder. We loved him even when he used his fists on me and my brothers. One time, he headbutted me so hard he almost broke my nose. I desperately tried to jump on Mum and protect her as Dad continuously punched her.

I was 15 when my father killed my stepmother and her lover in While I was walking with friends around school after a homecoming game, he walked in on the couple making love in his house in western New York, and he shot them. When my mom sat me down the next morning to tell me what she knew, waves of coldness washed over me, and I stifled the urge to throw up.



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