When I was really young, my dad used to visit me one whopping hour a week; 12-1pm on Sundays. My mom would stay in the kitchen and I would be with him in the living room.
One time I was eating Crunch Berries out of the box, and I would eat the Crunch Berries first, completely avoiding the other, less-tasty pieces. Dad said, "don't do that, or I'll squeeze your hands." My next handful, by the luck of the draw, was almost all Crunch Berries.
He took me hands out and squeezed them, and it really hurt. My grandfather threw Dad out, and took me to the Emergency Room
He broke both of my pinkies. I was 6.
I will never fucking forget it.
I wrote him off that day, frankly, and apparently he wrote me off not long thereafter. He stopped visiting when I was 8, and the next time I saw him was in 1993.
I've never told that story before. This was cathartic.
