I remember waking in the night, a large hand shaking me awake. My father, drunk, telling me to come down stairs, to get outta bed and eat dinner.
I remember mom put the Christmas presents under the tree early this year, because my brother and I are too old too believe in Santa.
I remember dinner being awful that evening, and my dad throwing his dinner plate at the wall in disgust.
I remember crying, and my father trying to comfort me. "Everything will be fine son," he assured me, "you can trust me. Now quit being a cry baby, and go to bed."
I remember my parents argument lasting long into the night, me laying in bed wishing they would stop so I could sleep.
I remember when I first woke up the next morning, and coming down the stairs to find my dad passed out on top of the Christmas tree, crushing it and most of the presents under his body.
I remember seeing my mom that morning, the evidence of my moms punishment swelling black and blue across her face.
I remember the realization sinking in that I could never trust my father again.