A Beaten Man

“…and every once in a while i had to take a beating. but by then i didn’t care. the way I saw it, everybody takes a beating sometimes.” -Henry Hill, Goodfellas

when i was 2 years old, my dad beat the shit out of me. no, i don’t think you understand- he fucking beat me to what i’m told was an inch of my life. i was covered head-to-toe in bruises. i don’t remember it, i was too young. but mom left my dad and refused to let him see me. my dad’s parents disowned him (for a little while).

eventually mom went back to him. i asked her why and she told me because she didn’t want me to grow up not knowing my dad. and my dad being a manipulative man, used that to needle his way back into her life. she stayed with him for 11 more years. and i was beaten regularly.

i’m not talking a few passes on the ass with a belt. we’re talking being held by my arm while multiple lashes landed where they landed over 3-5 minutes. and no, that isn’t an exaggeration. it really lasted that long. my mom began hiding behavior slips when i got in trouble at school.

had a friend sleep over once and we made cereal saturday morning. i was in fourth grade at the time. he left the milk on the counter and when my dad woke up he asked me who left the milk out. i gulped and told him i did. my dad glared at me, “get to your room.” he walked in and beat me like he always did.

when i came out the room my friend looked at me and almost broke into tears, “i’m so sorry man.” i shrugged my shoulders. “don’t worry about it.” by that point in my life it was useless to to say anything. being beaten was simply a reality of a young Danny.

my mom left my dad shortly after that. do you know how bad a marriage has to be for a fourth grade boy to be RELIEVED that his parents were splitting up. we moved in with Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw, and that time was the best time of my childhood.

one day at school we were playing football during recess (tackle, touch is for pussies). this kid tackled me, and when he got up he pushed my head into the ground. i went into the red. i set up to guard him on the next play. i didn’t have the ball thrown to me, but i ran at dude and tackled him, he got up and we went at it.

anyone that’s ever seen young boys fight, you know how insane it gets. there’s a complete chaos and teachers come running from everywhere. it was broken up really quickly and i got suspended for 3 days. when i explained to my mom what happened and she told me, “remember when your Maw-Maw told you how to deal with the bullies at the bus-stop? i nodded and she told me i had done the right thing. that if someone starts a fight with me she wanted me to fight back.

the fight at school was my first time going at a guy who pushed me. i hated how i felt after the fight, but something amazing happened.

i noticed no one ever picked on me. being tiny meant i’d get taunts, and pushed. i just stayed quiet. this fight was different. the bus-stop was just dealing with two kids ganging up on me, teasing me. i beat one with a stick.

but the guy in fourth grade was my first one on one fight. and i attribute it to being a kid that just accepted being beaten viciously and growing accustomed to it. when i FINALLY knew i could fight back, it was very empowering to me. and i HATE to fight. i’ve NEVER started a fight, and men that fight KNOW when they’re dealing with a guy that will swing.

my fathers an asshole, haven’t spoken to him since 2006. when i was living with him i decided to stay home for the evening (New Years Eve) and my dad told me i should go out. after he went to bed i got bored and walked 2 houses over to my friends family who was having a family party. i’d been there an hour when my dad showed up and told me to get my ass home.

when we got inside he started yelling at me and getting in my face. i told him to back off of me. then he said in a “big boy” voice, “you think you’re gonna hit me boy. go ahead.” i looked him right in his eye and said calmly, “no, you’re drunk. take your ass back to bed and well discuss this tomorrow.”

the next morning i told my dad that if he EVER got in my face like that again, i WOULD hit him. and there was no way he was going to beat me in fight. “you beat me enough as a kid that if anyone pushes me now, i fucking unload on them. and i don’t care if i win or lose.” i knew exactly what kind of man my father was.

the type of man that will always only speak, but never fight. he used his big brother to do his fighting for him as a kid, and that’s why no one ever fucked with him. he’ll talk tough, but never back it up. i prefer to stay among the warriors who speak little of suck things. and I respect them far more than men that won’t fight to protect those they love.

if you’re a fighter. i salute you.

stay up.


6 Comments on “A Beaten Man”

  1. ar10308 says:

    I’ve read a few of Forrest Griffin’s books and in one them he talks about what it takes to be a professional MMA fighter. One of the things he talks about is that 9/10 MMA fighters were severely beaten when they were younger. He says that, mentally, that is the only way a person can possibly cope with the amount of pain it takes to train and fight at that level. He says that for fighters, they feel most alive in that pain and have utterly no fear of it due to how familiar they are with it. It makes sense from a Pavlovian stand-point because pain while young conditions a person to deal with great deal more of it later in life.

    Also, Forrest is a true fighter/brawler type guy. If you meet in a bar and challenge him to a fight in the bathrooms or out back, he will take you up on it. He claims to have beaten up a ton of challengers.

    • dannyfrom504 says:

      Yeah. I don’t like fighting, but it’s always going to be a part of life. Last fight I had was over a year ago when a dude shoulder checked me in a target parking lot.

      Dropped him in less than 10 seconds. I’ll get back to krav training when I get back here. I WISH I could train systema.

  2. Joe Ganska says:

    Good post man. The last 2 guys who fought me ended up swinging at my head, only to hit the side of my fat neck. I backed off and thought WTF.

    I feel the rage inside of me like I wanna kill someone. I don’t wanna pussy out with talk and no action

  3. Pluviophile says:

    My dad used to be an abusive prick, until one day I told him crying if he ever hit me again I would beat his ass. He never did and I never had to. That was the end of the beatings. I feel bad about it sometimes, must be hard on a father to hear that from his son. I do love love him, but we’re not close in any meaningful way.


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