Leaves’ Eyes—“Vinland Saga”
And now, back to my non-Oprah approved life story of sickness and,
I was in my room listening to a Dean Martin record when my poppa came
home. I turned down the sound in order to hear my momma telling about my
use of the “f” word in order to get prepared for the belt thrashing, yet
I was also hoping beyond hope that she would somehow forget, sparing my
young buttocks an hour or so of pain.
As Dean crooned “That’s Amore”, I listened through my half-opened door
as pops fixed himself a manhattan. I could only hear murmurs and they
didn’t sound too angry so I figured that I was in the free and clear.
Then came “He said WHAT?!” and I scampered to a corner of my room and
He came stomping up the stairs and flung my bedroom door open with one
hand as the other pulled the belt from around his waist. My thumb found
solace in my mouth as I started to rock back and forth while whining
“Where did you learn such filthy language?” he yelled as he bent the
belt in two.
I continued to suck on my thumb and whine as he advanced.
“Well? When did you develop such a dirty mouth?”
Since my regression wasn’t working, I decided to act like a man and
pulled my thumb from my mouth.
“From the playground, dad.”
“FROM THE PLAYGROUND? Are you kidding me? I didn’t learn that word until
I was almost done with college! And look at you, learning stuff an
eleventh grader shouldn’t be learning and on the playground to boot!
What’s this world coming to? WHAT’S IT COMING TO OH LAWDY JESUS?”
And with that he fell to his knees and raised his arms to the ceiling.
He waved them around while begging for my forgiveness from the Lawd as
I sat in the corner happy that I had, somehow, avoided a whupping.
Yet again I was wrong since the Lawd didn’t answer my dad and, as the
faraway look left his eye, he picked the belt up and got to his feet.
I started babbling about the dead body in the woods and my bleeding anus
but it didn’t seem to phase him especially when he noticed the dried
paint around my mouth and nose.
He ordered me to lower my pants and bend over and then he proceeded
whacking me with the belt 12 times, three times for each letter of that
nasty “f” word. I managed to hold in the tears until I was hit the
second time and then I cried like a wee baby.
When he was done he told me that he hoped I had learned my lesson and
that I had better clean up the drops of blood that had shot from my
butthole to the ceiling as he was whipping me since it might “upset your
After plugging up my dripping anus with some toilet paper, I got the
ladder and began scrubbing off the spots of blood on the ceiling while
planning my vengeance.
COMING NEXT: The vengeance!