“My father tried to slap me, but I was no longer 15”

HASWith my father, we waste our lives arguing. I tried to understand for years, but there is nothing to understand. In any case, I will never know his reasons – if indeed he knows them himself.

When my parents divorced, my mother was already sick and she preferred that I stay with my father. She died when I was 7 years old. As a child, I was often on my own. My father worked a lot, left early and came home late, I managed. We lived in a former horse-riding house in the Sarthe, a huge shack with seven bedrooms. In the morning, I waved to him through the window, then I got ready on my own, I had lunch, I walked to school – at the time, that was done. In the evening, the same. This autonomy, I put up with it.

belt shots

I built myself. With all this freedom, at times, I needed a frame. I’m not just talking about sanctions, but quite simply about a presence. But he only worked with punishment, and the old way. Homework not done? Bad grades? A messy room? It was belt shots. When you are a child, you suffer. It is later, when the balance of power changes, that things change.

“I had become strong. He saw that I could hurt him. So he told me to go away. »

In 1995, I was a young adult, I was 20 years old. My father had rebuilt his life with another woman, I had a brother and a sister aged 4 and 5. We were then living near Toulon. When they moved to Normandy, I stayed in the South, in Marseille, where I was studying because I wanted to be an oceanographer. At Christmas, we met at their house, with my father, my mother-in-law, the children and my maternal grandmother, to whom I am very close. Usually, we went to my paternal grandparents. There have always been tensions and arguments at Christmas, but it didn’t go very far because there was the framework: my father’s parents, uncles and aunts…

This time, my father was obnoxious from the start. The evening started well: a nice table, a good meal, everything you need. But he had a very aggressive and haughty attitude towards his companion. He spoke badly to her, treated her like a servant. Deep inside, I was starting to boil. At one point, he must have said something like “it’s overcooked” or “you’re really messing up”, and then I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I told him to stop. The tone rose fairly quickly, despite the presence of my grandmother, who was trying to calm things down. We quickly came to blows: I think he tried to slap me, but I had no more 15 years old, I had become strong. He saw that I could hurt him. So he told me to go away.

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