Other than spanking “naughty” girls, I don’t hit women.
A couple of guys I know occasionally slap or even punch women. These guys are usually little dorks with some anger problems from a lifetime of rejection. They gross me out.
As a small, skinny kid my parents would occasionally slap or hit or throw things when they got angry. Around the age of eleven though their lives started to go haywire and they had much shorter fuses with me… plus I was entering puberty and becoming a rebellious little brat. Whenever they hit me I would get deeply angry that there was nothing I could do about it at the time… I was too small and they held all the power of an adult-child relationship. Occasionally I would fantasize about getting a bat or a gun to defend myself, but of course never acted on it (hence why this story isn’t titled “Joel’s Juvie Joys”).
It continued getting worse and worse as I fully entered puberty and passed through junior high and my parents marriage fell apart. I promised myself I would never hurt anyone weaker than me in anger many times during this period. That promise soon was tested.
I was fifteen years old and was bigger and stronger than my mom now. She however had the demonic powers of methamphetamines on her side. We got into a fight about whether or not I could use the computer and were standing toe to toe in the hallway between the white carpeted living room and the computer room of our old house in Graham. Screaming like a banshee and spitting in my face, I rolled my eyes at her and she started to slap me with bonejarring hits in the mouth. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as angry as I was at that moment. More than anything else I wanted to unleash hell on her for her insane behavior at that moment and all of the bad things she’d done to me before.
A combination of my promises to myself not to ever hit women and my grandfather’s teachings on honor held my hand.
I’m not sure I would even have that level of self control now that I did at that moment, but I managed to sneak around her and go to the relative safety of my bedroom.
A couple of months later, I called her “Bitch” and she kicked me out.