Warning: this story is disturbing.
Some of you may have read my son’s account of having a “Third Parent” about what happened regarding the monster Tommy Taffy. After reading it, after crying over it, I felt compelled to write this. I’m not here to defend my actions. I’m not here to make excuses. I did what I had to so that my family would survive. I knew what Tommy was capable of. I knew what we’d have to endure.
But I also knew that if we could make it five years without pissing off Tommy Taffy, we’d come out of the nightmare alive. How did I know that? Because I had already lived it. I had already been exposed to what that…thing…was capable of. I had seen Tommy’s temper, had seen what pushed his buttons. I had already done my five years.
Like I said, I’m not here to defend myself. What happened to my family is unspeakable…but we are alive. No, instead I’m writing this so you can understand why I did what I did. Why I chose to let Tommy do what he did to my wife and children. After you hear my side, after you read what I went through, then you can judge me.
God knows I deserve it.
Tommy first arrived on my street when I was seven. I was an only child and lived with both my parents in a middle class neighborhood. It was a mellow slice of the American Dream, like a cut of apple pie under a smothering layer of vanilla ice cream.
Our street was in a secluded residential neighborhood in the far corner of our sprawling development. There were six houses in total and we were a tight nit bunch, both the parents and children. In the summers we’d have cook outs and in the winter we’d have Christmas parties. It was almost like our block was one big family. Everyone looked out for one another, everyone was generous and considerate; it was a different time, when people trusted one another.
But our picture perfect life shattered when he arrived…
Jesus I’ll never forget it.