The Price of a Lesson

What would you do if your father smashed your nine-year-old son’s bike? Not by accident, not because he backed over it with a car, but because he picked it up and threw it into the concrete until it broke? My dad did exactly that. He destroyed my son’s joy because my son refused to let his cousin borrow it.

When I found out the truth, I gave my father one chance to apologize. I asked him to look his grandson in the eye and say he was wrong. He wouldn’t. He looked at me with that familiar, cold arrogance and refused.

Right after that, I walked to my car and grabbed a baseball bat.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re probably thinking I used that bat to hit my dad, right? I am not a violent person. I would never hurt the man who brought me into this world, no matter how much he hurt me. No, I used that bat for something else entirely. I used it to send a message that words could no longer convey.

Let’s dive into the story. I’ll tell you exactly what happened, why I did it, and why I haven’t spoken to them since. Before I delve into the details, I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you for taking the time to listen to my story today.