"What if he kills us all?"

The policeman daughter is about her father and why she does not believe people in the form

The 28-year-old Arina ( the name changed at the request of the heroine ) tells in the heading “from her words” about how the father, who served on the criminal wanted list, held in fear the whole family, and explains why the police did not help her avoid house violence.

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I grew up in a small Siberian city. My father was the head of the local criminal investigation department and was very proud of his work. Everyone around also believed that this was an honorary position. When I was little, friends asked: "Your dad works in the police?" - And they asked to tell about him. It seemed to many, this means that our family lives well. But in fact, it was completely wrong. There was little money, often I could eat only sandwiches for a week. While his father was not fired from the criminal investigation department, he spent a lot of time at work. And when he came home, he drank vodka.

These were the 90s, and the NTV constantly showed TV shows about cops. If the father was at home, we all the time watched the “criminal Russia”. At five, it was my favorite program. The series often showed noble and generous police officers, heroes. Dad liked to watch a movie about them. But he himself was not at all like that.

We lived in a one -room apartment. In the evenings, my father and mother sat in the kitchen, smoked and cursed. Often the skirmishes passed into a scream. Father could have fanned for no reason: "Bitch, creature, I hate you!" Fights happened. Often his father grabbed the gun. We had a safe at our place in which it was supposed to hold service weapons, but it was usually empty and the gun simply lay on the closet. Dad could grab him and begin to wave it when he cursed with his brother on the phone. His colleagues did the same. They often came to visit him, they all sat together in the kitchen and drank vodka. They regularly had skirmishes, and all of them were constantly clutching the weapon.

In general, there were constantly many different people at home. One of them worked with his father, others, as my mother later told me, were bandits. For example, when I was small, my parents had a friend - Uncle Sasha. We often came to visit him - together with his wife and young children, he lived in a chic apartment. The children had talking toys "Ferbi". Neither I nor my friends had such - I saw them only on TV. Even the youngest daughter had a “pregnant” doll that gave birth to a child.

Once, Uncle Sasha lived at our house for a couple of weeks. Then he disappeared for a long time. When I grew up, I asked my mother where Uncle Sasha went, and she said that he was a thief in law. At our house, he was hiding from the police - that is, the father actually had to look for him at that time. And he disappeared, because he was arrested and sent to the colony.

“Nobody will protect you, all the cops know me! Nobody will take me from here! "

I did not feel proud that dad was working in the police. Mom said that at such work people either get drunk or become bastards, and sometimes both. It seems to have happened to him. Mom says that he beat her, even when she was pregnant. During the scandals, he shouted: “No one will protect you, all the cops know me! Nobody will take me from here! ” And he was right. From time to time, my mother called the police. On the phone, she was told: "We do not deal with family showdowns." When I grew up a bit, I began to call myself - the district police officer should come when minors are in danger. Police officers appeared on the threshold, greeted his father by the hand. They asked: “Well, what are you doing here?” He said: "I do nothing, I do not know what they came up with here." They said: "Well, then we will go." I told them: "He will kill me now!" But they shook their hands.

Several times he was still taken into the monkey, but very quickly released. When I was just learning to write, one of the first phrases that I wrote was: “From my words it was written correctly” - I testified when my father was detained. Once we came across a really good district police officer - he arrived on call and saw that dad was running with a knife. He took the knife from the dad, abandoned the cabinet and issued the detention for 14 days. In these two weeks, my mother took money from someone and set the iron door. But then his father returned, could not get home and called the police. He said that he was registered in this apartment, and he had to let him in.

When I was small, I asked my mother to divorce him. It seemed to me that if this happens, my father would leave to live in some other place, and we will heal happily. My brother - he is seven years older than me - on the contrary, asked them not to get divorced. He also remembered his father sober and “normal”. And yet they really divorced when I was seven-only dad did not go anywhere. He was given the apartment according to the socialist, and in order to exchange it, it was necessary to issue a privatization. But he did not want to do this, he was so happy with him. My mother and I stayed in the room, and he is in the kitchen.
Although we lived well, periodically, expensive things appeared in the house: for example, a TV. The father had a pager. Apparently, these things went to him in an illegal way: from the conversations of the house it followed that he "waved from the prison." I remember that in childhood, cars constantly changed. Later, my mother told me that my father kept driving drunk behind the wheel. If he was stopped, he showed an official certificate, and he was immediately released. As a result, he broke these cars. When he was 35, he drunkenly drove into a military car. It turned out that he was higher in rank, his crusts were “cooler”, and his father was kicked out of the criminal investigation department. Recently, I found among the documents an order to dismiss him. It said that he "defeats the honor and dignity of a police officer."

It happened when I was about seven. Having stopped going to work, my father washed down even more. If earlier he drank vodka, now both hawthorn and ordinary alcohol went into business. Once he even drank my perfume. He was a very strong person - nothing happened to him. Once, the neighbors from the first floor asked him to go to the bank with them and take on a loan for a car. In return, they gave him a five -lit cancer of alcohol. Father and his friends needed only three days to empty this canister.

By the way, the neighbors did not pay off the loan. The bailiffs went to our house for some time-but they spoke with their father and left. It seems that in the end the neighbors were imprisoned for non -payment of a loan. Father, as usual, came out dry out of the water. Even when he was fired, he continued to use his position. When the district police officer or bailiffs came to us, he shouted: “Who are you?! I'll call such and such! ” Most often it worked.

He went to the police to gain a power that he never had

When I was small, he had short periods of sobriety. At such moments, it was interesting with him - he told Bible stories. He was generally smart and well -read, knew French, sorted out in theology. According to stories, in his youth he was a charming and pleasant person. But at some point, when he had already begun to work in a criminal investigation, something broke in it.

I know that his own father was a tough and fierce man, and that dad was afraid of him. I also know that he always really wanted to work in the police. But I never heard him say something about the fight against crime, injustice. It seems to me that for him the service in the organs was associated with power and force. As a child, he was a clogged child, he felt weak. I can’t know for sure, but I assume that he went to the police to gain power that he never had.

When I was three years old, we started an American cocker spaniel. It was a very smart dog who did not offend in his life and flies, except that he sometimes stole food from the table. Father loved animals and most often was affectionate with him. But once, when I was eight or nine, my mother and I came home and saw that the blood was on the floor, and a collar and a leash were lying around. We were scared that something happened to the dog. But it turned out that this was not his blood, but dad - he bit him. It was strange: a kind dog would not bite the owner just like that. Most likely, the dog was defended.

Once, when I was ten, I was visiting my grandmother. One day, she called me to the kitchen and poured valerian, and then said that my father threw out our dog balcony. We lived on the fifth floor. No one knows what happened. That night, for some reason, my mother dreamed that his father was throwing him out of the window. She called her brother from work and asked to come home early. There he was met by a neighbor: she said that the dog was lying under the window. The brother immediately rushed there. The dog had all the ribs, but he was alive. The brother carefully carried him home, and then rushed to his father with his fists. Dad at that time was already a sound -free drunkard, and his brother was no longer afraid to fight with him.

We dragged a dog for veterinary clinics for a long time. From the blow, it is deaf, and due to internal damage, then he then had many more health problems. But he lived with us for another six years. Instead of teams, we began to communicate with him with gestures, and he understood everything.

Years up to twelve, I thought that all families live like that. I could come home and find that the door was closed from the inside. Father drifted Shkokold and went to bed. Mom worked as a nurse, and she often spent evenings and nights on duty. I sat on the stairs, and sometimes went to have dinner to neighbors or friends. Gradually, seeing how others live, I began to realize: not everyone has it. Not every house every day screams and scandals, not all fathers drink and fight. When I was 14, I decided to deprive the pope of parental rights. I found out that if not to do this, then someday he could demand child support from me, and thought: “What if my life will turn out well? And then he will appear and demand that I provide it? ” We did not have the Internet. I myself began to call the guardianship, to the police department for minors, I went to a social teacher at school. I asked what I needed to do to be deprived of my parental rights. Everywhere they told me that everything is "not so bad." Like, if he had beaten me very much, I could take off his beatings and then something, maybe it happened. They also hinted that I myself am not a very good daughter, because I smoke and walk school. I really walked school - my father often screamed at night, woke us up, scandalized, tried to push him to the balcony. After such nights, it was impossible to study.

In the police department in minors, a young employee talked to me - I think she was not even thirty. She said: “Why are you so worried? My father also drank, I grew up, and everything is fine. ” I went out and burst into my voice, because I felt that I could not do anything. They told me everywhere: we need the results of a forensic examination and the indications of the district police officer. And what can be the indications of the district police officer if police officers come, shake their hands and leave?

Once I watched the movie. He was about a woman who again and again turned to the police and said that her husband drowned the dog in the bath. She said: "I'm afraid, suddenly he will drown me too?" They could not do anything in the police - then they did not arrest for the brutal handling of animals. As a result, the husband really drowned her. Just like in this film, I thought: “If the father was able to throw the dog from the balcony, what if he kills us all?” Sometimes it even occurred to me to kill him - to go to jail, but to get rid of him forever. I also wondered since childhood: if I committed suicide and leave a note that he is to blame for my death, he will be arrested or released again?

I did not tell anyone about what is happening at our house. I was ashamed and it seemed that they were not talking about this. When his father was already expelled from the criminal investigation department, he often stood at the kiosks on the street and begged for money from passers -by. Classmates could say: "Again, your dad shoots a trifle." But no one mocked me. At the same time, most likely, classmates considered me mentally unbalanced: I often cried in lessons or began to scream.

Even when his father became helpless, he tried to establish power in the house, show who is strong here. Once a doctor prescribed oral contraceptives to his mother due to gynecological problems. He and his father had long been divorced, but he was still rummaged in her bag-he was looking for money. He saw pills and arranged another scandal: he yelled that she was a slut and runs around the men. It seemed that he was pleased to intimidate everyone and terrorize. At the same time, he himself behaved as he pleases. He brought some women to his kitchen, walked naked. I could not reach the toilet and relieve the need for himself-because of this, there was a terrible smell in the kitchen. Sometimes we could not go there - he rushed with a remote control or bottles.

I never understood why even after the divorce my mother continues to cook his food. She did not live her life: she only worked and cursed with him. At night we could not fall asleep: we were afraid that he was about to come home, and the nightmare would begin again. After school, I did not go to college, but got a job at the communication salon. I worked a lot and soon began to earn good money. My mother and I bought a room and convinced my father to move there. But even after that, she continued to bring him food. I asked: “Why? He ruined our life, why will you just stop talking with him? ” She said that she was afraid: they say, if he does not feed him, he would be able to take it and come to us again. Now it seems to me that she was simply used to living not her life, became dependent on these scandals and skirmishes. She hated him, but constantly thought about him.

Seven years ago I moved to Moscow. My brother moved here. After a couple of years, we and my mother offered to move. Only here, away from her father, she finally began her own life: a new job appeared, friends. She began to engage in herself and blossomed directly before her eyes. Contact with the father finally interrupted. Sometimes a relative from his hometown called us and told how he lives. At some point, he had problems with his back, and his brother transferred him money for treatment. It seems that he was even assigned an operation. But in the end, he simply drank money, and even a passport somewhere.

Last year, my brother threw me a post on VKontakte. There was a photograph of my father, but I did not immediately recognize him - now he is 55 years old, but in the picture he looked at all 70. The publication told about the lonely man who was in the hospital. He cried and said that he had neither his wife nor children, and there is no one to visit him. The nurse urged him to help him with food and clothes.

It turned out that in 2019, his father began to refuse his legs. For a while he was sitting at home, but then he could not stand it and went outside-for alcohol. There he had a stroke, and he was taken on an ambulance. My brother called that nurse, explained the situation. She said: “But you are his children, you must at least visit him, besides this, he does not need anything.” But we did not understand why to go. After all, his father himself said in the hospital that he had no children. The brother thought to go to help, but it turned out that the kind nurse had already gathered clothes and made sure that her father was put in the hospice. What happened to him further, we do not know - we did not particularly try to follow his fate.

I came across violence, but never contacted law enforcement agencies. I do not believe that the police want to protect me

I often repeat: "Children of the cops hate cops." This is true. From childhood, I saw that people in the form cannot be relying on. My mother and I tried to turn to them for help and protection, but in the end I had to cope. Therefore, it always seemed to me that in the world it was impossible to count on any help at all. I did not trust anyone and could not even ask friends to help me with a move or with heavy bags.

Whatever happens in my life, I never call the police. Once I found myself in an abusive relationship. I came across violence, but never contacted law enforcement agencies. I do not believe that the police want to protect me.

Recently, on Twitter, I see disputes about whether the wives and children of police are responsible for what the police themselves are doing. I am sure not. Family members are not to blame for anything, and they can be the same victims of violence as those who are delayed, beat and torture. After all, if someone likes to feel power, first of all his loved ones suffer.

I tell this story because I know that many go through this. I want them to know: the nightmare will end one day. If I could, I would return to the past and told myself that this is not forever. That my father will disappear from my life. Of course, the past still affects me. I am just now learning to express my emotions: to show my love and affection for loved ones. After that story with the dog, I could not have a new one for a long time, but now I have a puppy. Probably, to some extent, I am even glad that all this happened to me. Now, no matter what situation I ended up, I say to myself: the worst is still behind.