Chapter 12 - Dad’s Punch
The district attorney’s office reviewed my father’s punch.
Ethan had been standing several feet away.
I was already behind Dad.
The immediate assault against me had stopped.
Dad walked toward Ethan and struck him.
That mattered.
Dad did not pretend otherwise.
“I hit him because I was angry.”
His attorney asked him not to narrate guilt casually.
Dad answered:
“I’m not going to call it self-defense if it wasn’t.”
Eventually the incident was resolved through a misdemeanor diversion arrangement.
No prior record.
Single strike.
No serious injury.
Counseling.
Community service.
Successful completion leading to dismissal under the applicable program.
Dad hated one part.
Anger-management class.
“I spent thirty years managing anger.”
I said:
“You punched my husband in front of six police officers.”
He stared.
“Fair.”
Later he admitted the class helped.
Not because it taught him not to be angry.
Because it separated:
protecting me
from:
punishing Ethan.
Dad protected me by coming.
Calling police.
Standing between us.
Helping me leave.
The punch was for Dad.
May you like
Not me.
That distinction mattered.
