Imagine living with your dad, but instead of being a good role model, he yells at you, throws things at you, and only cares about his cigarettes. Would you stay loyal to your dad no matter what, or would you look for a way out?

In this story, one boy is in that situation, and he puts up with his dad for quite awhile. Then, one day his dad goes too far, and he knows he needs to be bold enough to call for help.

Keep reading to see how the story plays out.

The Thin Red Dime (“don’t come back home…”)

I’m about eleven years old in Germantown (the projects of Quincy) Massachusetts living with my father.

Any time I’ve asked about my mom I got shot down with a “ she’s a crazy witch”.

My father had many vices. Tobacco seemed to play the biggest role in our lives and in keeping him relatively sane. Cigarettes lined up like a Clash of Clans skeletal army, warding off the much bigger , much more formidable beasts that lie ahead.

Individually, a cigarette holds minimal power, yet a million times more power than none. This sad mathematical fact is what brings us to this story of the most malicious of compliances.

The dad sounds awful.

When my dad ran out of the money he got for SSI and SSA, cigarettes became a problem, even in the late eighties.

He would have me “bum cigarettes” from the neighbors. Some neighbors were generous. Some told me how vile it was for a father to send their child to get cigarettes. Some threw chicken bones at me.

If I only had the wherewithal to reply “ ma’am I’m eleven “. Or at least duck.

When it got really bad he had me walk the town looking for cigarette butts that still had some tobacco left. This was a disgusting activity that I eventually got really good at. And really sick of.

The dad went too far.

One night he sends me off on another tobacco mission, but I’m in the middle of a game of monopoly I’m playing with Chewbacca, starscream and megatron, and it’s about to get good.

I argue to the point of my dad throwing throwing a handful of coins at me , yelling in his raspy post-thyroidectomy voice “don’t come back until you have cigarettes I can SMOKE!!!”

Enter MC

As blood trickles down my face, dripping onto a few dirty coins I managed to retain from their violent travels, I wonder what other crimes these coins have been complicit to. What have you done, little dime!?

He was on a mission but not to help his dad.

I was done. With all of it.

As an eleven year old I had very little cards to play, but one of them landed right in my lap.

I walked in the dead of night, directly up the unnamed dirt road my dad used to drive me down whilst sitting on the hood. Back when I was a few years younger. When I was his type. Am I ready to do this?

I keep walking, seeing many cigarette butts and even an un crushed pack, ignoring them all as I walk to the fire station. I know there’s a pay phone there, and this time my dads gonna pay.

I’m so glad he had someone to call for help.

I look down at my coins, my bloody dime, and call my Aunt Stella. She told me earlier this year that anytime I needed help, call her.

My Dad always insisted I don’t do this, or ever call her for anything, because “all she wants to do is rat me out and see me in jail so SHE can keep u!”

Sounds like a plan.

When she picked up she knew right away, but explained in way too much detail what happened the last few months and then years, even including the SA from my dad back when he was still into me. If these balls could talk. Anyway, I cried and tears well up even now remembering how it all just flowed out of me like a river of garbage falling over me.

She knew to bring cigarettes.

I knew this was gonna be big trouble if I didn’t have the cigarettes and I told her.

She risked her life driving to us, pack of cigarettes in her hand as she picked me up and told me to stay in the car.

Even through the closed windows of a Chevy nova I could hear her yell “here’s your cigarettes, I’m taking op!!”

The saddest part was that he took the cigarettes and turned around no argument. He didn’t even fight for me . I don’t even know why, to this day, I even wanted him to.

Thank goodness for Aunt Stella!

Aunt Stella did what I knew she would; call the cops on him and take me in.

He went to jail then eventually out of state after kids kept coming out of the woodwork who were his victims.

I never looked back.

Who am I kidding? I looked back every day since.

I’m so glad he called his aunt and that she came through on her promise to help him. He really needed out of there. His dad was horrible.

Let’s see how Reddit responded to this story.

One person offers virtual hugs.

Another person has a prediction about the dad’s future.

This person knows how he feels.

His aunt is a wonderful person.

Every child deserves a safe and loving home.

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