A few days after Christmas we had an awful ice storm. Everything in the world was coated in a half inch of ice. Our car and trailer, our front steps and porch, the yard, and the surrounding fields.
I would have loved exploring this enchanting world during all the free time of my Christmas break, but also covered in ice were the roads and my step dad had to stay home from work.
My week of relaxation, watching TV, feeling safe, and being myself was now replaced with avoiding this brooding chunk of muscle, whose presence dominated whatever room I shared with him. And he was more irritable than usual because the ice also brought down power lines, knocking out our electricity and heat.
There was no turning a bad situation into a good one, like bonding with hot cocoa or all snuggling together under a blanket reading a book.
There was only turning it from bad to worse, the way he treated it like a test.
We will wear long johns and bundle up. You’re cold? Go shovel the driveway. You’re bored? Boy, don’t tell me you’re bored or I’ll find you something to do you won’t like.
I was cold to my bones and I felt like there was something wrong with me for disliking it so much and not being tough.
When I go deer hunting I sleep in a cabin out in the woods and it’s just like this. My only heat is a kerosene lantern and it’s fine.
To escape the stress I put on my snowmobile suit and went outside with my new BB gun. My step dad loved guns so this felt like a safe thing to do and also helped me live up to being a man.
After shooting icicles and pop cans, I heard birds chirping. It triggered something in me. I suddenly had all the patience in the world to walk at an almost undetectable speed towards the birds.
When that scared them off I crawled, army-style, towards the next cluster of chirps. I was so focused it didn’t feel cold. When I got close enough, I took a shot. There was a small puff of feathers and the bird dropped to the snow.
I felt alive and strong in my body. This tapped into something primordial.
But when I got to the bird and saw its little chest trying to breathe, I saw another living being. I cried and felt ashamed.
I walked back towards the house until I heard another chirp, which ignited that instinct again and completely replaced the empathy I just had.
It was unnerving having these feelings reverse so involuntarily.
I wondered if this is what my step dad experienced. To have remorse, then pledges of not being cruel, then suddenly his empathy was drowned out by something, usually something I did, and the tornado was back.
For the hundredth time in my childhood, my gut wrenched, worrying if I would turn out like him.
I assumed that when he was young, he was just like everybody else and had a normal temperament. Then at some point he just kind of forgot about other people and became unaware of how his behavior effected them. And as slow as a season changing, he evolved into this monster.
Was my vanishing empathy for this little bird evidence that I was already turning into him? And if I’m just as bad as him, do I have a right to not be abused? Do I deserve it?
After four days of being cold to my bones and frazzled from stress, the electricity came back.
The first thing we did was turn on the TV. Jaws was on. Sitting with my feet over the heating vent I thawed and relaxed a little. The TV was always a nice distraction — both to keep my step dad’s focus off me, and a break from worrying when I’d get yelled at next. And if I’m going to turn into him.