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This issue has been referenced many times on these forums throughout the years I've been on here, but I don't recall any threads started specifically FOR it. So I have decided to start one for a couple of reasons. First, it's a place where people who have had to live in an abusive household can talk about what they've gone through, which is always helpful. Second, it's an issue we need to deal with. I've heard dozens of stories of abusive Armenian fathers, from my own immediate family, to my extended family (and we all know how extended those get), to at LEAST half the people on HyeClub that I've talked to throughout the years. Yet, sometimes when this subject is brought up, there are those Armenians who say this is NOT common, and is NOT a problem within our culture. I've just "talked to the wrong people", or "don't have enough evidence to think that". I say let's put this out in the open, and explore the issue to see if that is true, or not. I'll start off with my story since I started the topic.
My dad was about as abusive as they come. I'm not talking about spankings here and there, or "discipline". I'm talking about closed fist punches, belts (old school ones that had 3D designs made in metal on them), wire hangers, 2" x 4"s, or whatever else should be available to his hand when he was "upset", whether it was because we "misbehaved", or because he was just having a bad day. I still clearly remember once having a steak knife thrown at me because I couldn't find my keys one day after getting back from the playground. I would later find out someone else had picked them up because they thought they were his buddy's keys, and he had forgot them. I had to buzz to get in, and I knew what was coming when I got in the apartment. First he asked me how come I had to buzz to get in, saying it in a fashion that suggested "duh! Obviously we know why". I had to give him the answer, and as I did, I saw him pick up the knife. That was a new one. I turned and ran just as he chucked it. It actually stuck me in my right elbow about 1/4" - 1/2", hung for a second, and fell out. My dad's reaction (who was actually shocked because he "didn't think it would hit me") while I was trying to stop the bleeding afterwords was to say "you should be ready to take on a gang now". Yes, folks. He tried to make a joke out of stabbing one of his kids to "lighten the tension", or absolve him of his guilt.
He has knocked several of my mom's teeth out, broken a tape recorder over her head because he though she was trying to tape record his verbal abuse, torn all her clothes up with a knife because she went to bingo (yes....I said BINGO) against his orders/will, or dumped a bucket of water on her while she slept the next morning after going, and so on. I also still clearly recall the day he broke a thick hair brush over one of my sister's heads, and recall her running into the hallway of the apartment complex, as she was recently told to do (get somewhere public) during a class at school if ever in a domestic violence situation. My dad ran after her, grabbed her by the HAIR, and pulled her back into the apartment. That was the one and only time the cops were ever called despite nearly 2 decades of abuse, and naturally, they were told me and my sister were fighting. The cops asked if they could come in, and my dad told them no. I remember how shocked I was that they just took no for an answer, told us to keep it down, and left. Only later, when I got older, did I realize most cops in decent, or well-to-do towns are pussies that don't want to deal with real problems, and only act like bad asses when they write tickets for tinted windows, or no front license plate, talking as if you've committed the crime of the century. When a REAL problem arises, they're out of there. If they had seen my sister's condition, they would have HAD to have known something other than "my kids were fighting" was up. They didn't want to deal with it, so they accepted my dad's ridiculous, lame story, and left.
After 2 decades of physical and verbal abuse, and handing over half my paychecks to him from the first day I started working, while being told to pay for my own cost of living (food, gas, car insurance, clothes, school, school books, etc) with the other half (obviously an impossibility, and his attempt at indirectly making it impossible to go to school, and therefore, sabotaging my future), it all culminated into a boil over one day. My dad and I got into a heated argument about school. The semester prior to that, I had told him I couldn't afford to give him half my paycheck, pay for tuition, and still afford my school books. His response was, "then you drop out of school". So when the same thing happened the following semester, I finally lost it. Now my dad hadn't touched me in years since I towered over him after I got into my late teens, and he couldn't really physically intimidate me anymore. But he was still full of his typical temper, so on this occasion, when I had had enough, and blew up on him, he got right back into his old "you dare question anything I do or say???" mode. He told me to keep my voice down twice, and when I didn't, he picked up a floor fan next to him by the patio door, and threw it at me. I was to enraged to do what I would have done as a child at something like this, which is just curl up and prepare for impact. I literally punched the fan as it came at me, sending it back in his direction, and landing about a foot from his feet. I was practically foaming at the mouth at this point. My face was red, my veins were popping out, and my eyes clearly had the look of "I will kill you if I come over there". For the first time in my life, I watched my dad's face go a pale white. He managed to get out the words "get out of my house before I call the police", which I did. When I didn't come back that night, my parents called the police to report I was missing (mostly due to my mom freaking out; I'd never not been home before).
That night, I slept in my car in a parking lot. I had a lot of time to think over some things, and I decided it was time to move out. I was basically paying nearly full rent anyway due to giving my dad half my paycheck, as well as paying for my own living expenses, so why couldn't I just live on my own? I went back the next morning only to be b*tched out this time about why I DIDN'T come home. I didn't say a word to him. I just walked straight to my room and shut the door. That weekend, I signed a lease to an apartment, packed up what little I had, borrowed the van from work, and moved out. Shortly after that, the older of my two younger sisters ran away, staying at friend's houses. That FINALLY prompted my mom to get an apartment and move out herself so both my sister's could live with her.
And that was about the end of that. I had an on and off relationship with my dad for a few years after that, but every time the subject of abuse was brought up, he'd make comments that eventually earned him the label "Turk" from me. After decades of violence, he'd deny he did any of it, or downplayed what happened ("at least I didn't drown and kill my kids like some parents"), or blame the victims ("you were bad kids", "you didn't listen", etc). Anything he could do to absolve himself of guilt. But what struck me the most is how pissed off he'd get when the subject was brought up (again, like a Turk). He'd also still babble about how we hadn't amounted to anything, and we're throwing our lives away (this coming from a man who was either on unemployment, or cleaning toilets), despite him being the REASON why we couldn't get anywhere. Basically, out of jealousy, or need to make himself feel better about his worthless life, he set us up for failure so that he could have something to put us down for. After another blowout one day, I cut it off with him, and haven't spoken to him, or seen him in years, which actually feels quite good. I've gotten so comfortable with it that if he died tomorrow, I couldn't care less. The only way I'd go to his funeral is if it was an open casket, so I could piss in it.
Anyhow, I may not be a phD, or be making $100k+/yr, or be driving a Beamer or Merc, but I never cared for or desired those things, so it doesn't bother me. I have never had a problem putting food on the table, keeping a roof over my head, or affording any of my daily living expenses, nor have I had to deny myself "a night out on the town", or any miscellaneous things I've wanted to buy. I'm doing OK. Today, I literally have ZERO debt. No credit card payments, no car loans, NOTHING. How many people who make way more than me can even claim that? I also did whatever I could to make sure the younger of my 2 sisters got through school (covered her car insurance many times, lent her cash when needed, etc), and she is now employed with the government after earning a Bachelor's Degree in social work. So much like the Turks, despite my dad's best efforts, we actually ended up doing OK. Perhaps not everything I had hoped for, but still MUCH further along than what HE had hoped for.
............and the prince and princess lived happily ever after. The End!
My dad was about as abusive as they come. I'm not talking about spankings here and there, or "discipline". I'm talking about closed fist punches, belts (old school ones that had 3D designs made in metal on them), wire hangers, 2" x 4"s, or whatever else should be available to his hand when he was "upset", whether it was because we "misbehaved", or because he was just having a bad day. I still clearly remember once having a steak knife thrown at me because I couldn't find my keys one day after getting back from the playground. I would later find out someone else had picked them up because they thought they were his buddy's keys, and he had forgot them. I had to buzz to get in, and I knew what was coming when I got in the apartment. First he asked me how come I had to buzz to get in, saying it in a fashion that suggested "duh! Obviously we know why". I had to give him the answer, and as I did, I saw him pick up the knife. That was a new one. I turned and ran just as he chucked it. It actually stuck me in my right elbow about 1/4" - 1/2", hung for a second, and fell out. My dad's reaction (who was actually shocked because he "didn't think it would hit me") while I was trying to stop the bleeding afterwords was to say "you should be ready to take on a gang now". Yes, folks. He tried to make a joke out of stabbing one of his kids to "lighten the tension", or absolve him of his guilt.
He has knocked several of my mom's teeth out, broken a tape recorder over her head because he though she was trying to tape record his verbal abuse, torn all her clothes up with a knife because she went to bingo (yes....I said BINGO) against his orders/will, or dumped a bucket of water on her while she slept the next morning after going, and so on. I also still clearly recall the day he broke a thick hair brush over one of my sister's heads, and recall her running into the hallway of the apartment complex, as she was recently told to do (get somewhere public) during a class at school if ever in a domestic violence situation. My dad ran after her, grabbed her by the HAIR, and pulled her back into the apartment. That was the one and only time the cops were ever called despite nearly 2 decades of abuse, and naturally, they were told me and my sister were fighting. The cops asked if they could come in, and my dad told them no. I remember how shocked I was that they just took no for an answer, told us to keep it down, and left. Only later, when I got older, did I realize most cops in decent, or well-to-do towns are pussies that don't want to deal with real problems, and only act like bad asses when they write tickets for tinted windows, or no front license plate, talking as if you've committed the crime of the century. When a REAL problem arises, they're out of there. If they had seen my sister's condition, they would have HAD to have known something other than "my kids were fighting" was up. They didn't want to deal with it, so they accepted my dad's ridiculous, lame story, and left.
After 2 decades of physical and verbal abuse, and handing over half my paychecks to him from the first day I started working, while being told to pay for my own cost of living (food, gas, car insurance, clothes, school, school books, etc) with the other half (obviously an impossibility, and his attempt at indirectly making it impossible to go to school, and therefore, sabotaging my future), it all culminated into a boil over one day. My dad and I got into a heated argument about school. The semester prior to that, I had told him I couldn't afford to give him half my paycheck, pay for tuition, and still afford my school books. His response was, "then you drop out of school". So when the same thing happened the following semester, I finally lost it. Now my dad hadn't touched me in years since I towered over him after I got into my late teens, and he couldn't really physically intimidate me anymore. But he was still full of his typical temper, so on this occasion, when I had had enough, and blew up on him, he got right back into his old "you dare question anything I do or say???" mode. He told me to keep my voice down twice, and when I didn't, he picked up a floor fan next to him by the patio door, and threw it at me. I was to enraged to do what I would have done as a child at something like this, which is just curl up and prepare for impact. I literally punched the fan as it came at me, sending it back in his direction, and landing about a foot from his feet. I was practically foaming at the mouth at this point. My face was red, my veins were popping out, and my eyes clearly had the look of "I will kill you if I come over there". For the first time in my life, I watched my dad's face go a pale white. He managed to get out the words "get out of my house before I call the police", which I did. When I didn't come back that night, my parents called the police to report I was missing (mostly due to my mom freaking out; I'd never not been home before).
That night, I slept in my car in a parking lot. I had a lot of time to think over some things, and I decided it was time to move out. I was basically paying nearly full rent anyway due to giving my dad half my paycheck, as well as paying for my own living expenses, so why couldn't I just live on my own? I went back the next morning only to be b*tched out this time about why I DIDN'T come home. I didn't say a word to him. I just walked straight to my room and shut the door. That weekend, I signed a lease to an apartment, packed up what little I had, borrowed the van from work, and moved out. Shortly after that, the older of my two younger sisters ran away, staying at friend's houses. That FINALLY prompted my mom to get an apartment and move out herself so both my sister's could live with her.
And that was about the end of that. I had an on and off relationship with my dad for a few years after that, but every time the subject of abuse was brought up, he'd make comments that eventually earned him the label "Turk" from me. After decades of violence, he'd deny he did any of it, or downplayed what happened ("at least I didn't drown and kill my kids like some parents"), or blame the victims ("you were bad kids", "you didn't listen", etc). Anything he could do to absolve himself of guilt. But what struck me the most is how pissed off he'd get when the subject was brought up (again, like a Turk). He'd also still babble about how we hadn't amounted to anything, and we're throwing our lives away (this coming from a man who was either on unemployment, or cleaning toilets), despite him being the REASON why we couldn't get anywhere. Basically, out of jealousy, or need to make himself feel better about his worthless life, he set us up for failure so that he could have something to put us down for. After another blowout one day, I cut it off with him, and haven't spoken to him, or seen him in years, which actually feels quite good. I've gotten so comfortable with it that if he died tomorrow, I couldn't care less. The only way I'd go to his funeral is if it was an open casket, so I could piss in it.
Anyhow, I may not be a phD, or be making $100k+/yr, or be driving a Beamer or Merc, but I never cared for or desired those things, so it doesn't bother me. I have never had a problem putting food on the table, keeping a roof over my head, or affording any of my daily living expenses, nor have I had to deny myself "a night out on the town", or any miscellaneous things I've wanted to buy. I'm doing OK. Today, I literally have ZERO debt. No credit card payments, no car loans, NOTHING. How many people who make way more than me can even claim that? I also did whatever I could to make sure the younger of my 2 sisters got through school (covered her car insurance many times, lent her cash when needed, etc), and she is now employed with the government after earning a Bachelor's Degree in social work. So much like the Turks, despite my dad's best efforts, we actually ended up doing OK. Perhaps not everything I had hoped for, but still MUCH further along than what HE had hoped for.
............and the prince and princess lived happily ever after. The End!
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