Disturbia, Part 1

Recently a friend confessed about being molested during his early childhood, surprisingly or unsurprisingly he's not the first one who told me about this and happened to be gay. I wonder if in some way they are related. Not to offend anyone, but I've always trying to figure out the cause of my sexuality. Don't get me wrong, I don't have any qualms with being gay, I even enjoys it, but I have always been a logic guy and when there is a question, I look for answers.

Maybe it was a very natural thing like genetics, some Freudians argue that it is because of a bad relationship with the father figure, some says because the mother is too overbearing or too strong and psychologically castrated the father, but I do have gay friends that have a great relationship with their dads.

Since I've remembered, my mom always had a bad relationship with my father. I can understand why, when my mom went to Paris for my father she wasn't expecting that my father already had another woman on the side. We lived with my father's stepmother while my father lived with the mistress. Occasionally, my father would come over and they will close themselves up in the bedroom while I sit in the living room watching Inspector Gadget and the Smurfs on TV. I didn't know what they were doing, usually he comes for a while, disappeared into the bedroom and leave. He didn't pay much attention to me, nor I do him.

One time, they started to yell at each other and it got worse. I forgot what they were arguing about but suddenly the doors crashed open with my dad tumbling out the door and my mom was practically throwing herself at him. My mom was screaming from the top of her lungs, they were fist-fighting, my mom was scratching him with her nails, pulling, punches were thrown while they were wrestling on the floor. It was utterly chaotic. I don't know what to do but standing on the side and crying my eyes out. I don't quite remember what happened next, I just remember my mom was gasping for air, maybe my dad was choking her to make her stop, his shirt was torn by the time he left.

After he left, my mom was devastated and still throwing a fit, she was sitting on the floor crying, throwing things against the wall. She looked at me and said "Why are you so useless?" She took me to the small linen closet and pointed at a toolbox down below and said "Next time your father comes over, grab a hammer and hit him on the head with it."

I was a kid, of course I listened. I didn't like my dad much anyway, he wasn't a kind person and I don't think he cared much for me. He came over again eventually after a while and this time, I was ready. They closed themselves up in the bedroom again, but I got smart and climbed out the little window of our bathroom. The window leads to a grass platform between the buildings on our block where I climbed up to it and peeked into our bedroom. They were in bed naked and my father was on top of my mom. Instinctively, I thought they were fighting again. So I went back grabbed a hammer from the toolbox and knocked on the door, my mom said they were okay but there I was outside our bedroom waiting, a seven year old kid, holding a hammer with both hands.