I’m so mad at my father sometimes. My memories of my dad in my teenage years are fragmented. The only times that he isn’t at church for some Bible study, fellowship, class, or whatever, he comes home and he yells at us. It’s the most infuriating thing ever. I can’t stand it. He yells at me for staying on the laptop too long, he yells at me for not packing fast enough, he yells at me for not doing the dishes, he yells at me for snapping at my brother (which only gets me angrier), he yells at me all the freakin’ time. He yells at everyone in our family. He even storms into our rooms sometimes to yell at us for something we didn’t do right. He takes it out on my big brother, younger brother, mother, everyone. The only time he isn’t yelling at us is when he’s done yelling and he’s sitting on the couch seething.
Sometimes I’m so angry that he’s always shouting at the top of his lungs. Our house is small, so the noise carries easily. The worst thing is that it’s usually something ridiculously stupid, and some small thing just irritates him and he goes into a big long argument with my mother. I find it so hard to believe that he can go to church with a smile on his face, being a very sociable person during Sunday service and Friday night fellowship, and at home he comes to argue with us. It makes me hate him, even. I can’t find the strength to empathize with him, can’t find the strength to love him since he’s my father… I just give up. I just need to vent.
