Loving My Daddy to Death

Introduction: My name is Samantha Denise Holloway. I'm sixty years old today. I grew up in a small southern town with my parents and younger brother. When I was a little girl, I loved my daddy to death. He was a kind and gentle man who gave me everything I wanted. However, after he went off to the war in the sixties and came back with a head injury, he started changing a little bit every day. He started drinking, gambling, and running the streets on the weekends like a single man.Once my brother was old enough to start walking and talking, Daddy started beating on him. Daddy claimed he was training my little brother how to survive a colored man's life and a white man's war. When Mama tried to reason with him, he started beating on her too. But I was never afraid of him, and he never laid a finger on me. I was his precious princess.The more Daddy seemed to love me, the more I grew to hate him until I couldn't take it anymore. Now I can't remember the exact moment I recognized my hatred for my own father. But week after week of seeing him beating on my mother and young brother left me emotionally drained. I found myself feeling more and more disdain for Daddy and his evil ways. The father I had once loved and cherished was gone; lost in the war six years ago. He came back a changed man, and it wasn't for the better.I had to do something to save my family, or I would soon be the only one living with the monster he had become.I'm not proud of it, but this is the story of how I killed my daddy at the age of twelve in November of 1972. I had to save my mother and brother. I loved my daddy. And I loved him even more after his death. Regardless of what anyone is thinking about me, here's my story . . .Loving My Daddy to Deat