Have you ever called CPS on your own family?

The Gentleman Dictator

My little sister turned me into our violent dad after I protected her from his methods. So, I tore our family apart. Six months later, he sent a man to teach me a lesson.

My father was the kindest, most chivalrous gentleman I’d ever met, but only in public. Because as soon as the doors were closed, he turned into Kim Jong-un.

He had these insane rules that didn’t even make any sense. Yet, me, my mother, and my four other siblings were forced to follow them.

We couldn’t speak at the dinner table unless we were spoken to first. None of our rooms had any doors other than his bedroom and office.

Of course, we had to greet him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek as soon as he walked in the door. If we broke his rules, it’s not like he’d hit us or anything.

He’d just force us to hold a wallsit position until our faces turned so red we couldn’t hold it anymore.

Or if he was in a good mood, he’d sit us down at the table in front of the entire family. There, we had to present a slideshow of why we were such disappointments with a minimum of 10 examples.

And each family member had to contribute, too. But I never really thought it was that bad.

Because whenever I brought it up to my mom or siblings, they’d always just say, “At least he doesn’t hit us”.

But there was one rule that he never had to punish us for breaking because none of us dared to go near it: never ask about his work, like ever.

I don’t even think our mom even knew what his job was because he worked from home, but rarely had his laptop open.

Every day, there were sleazy businessmen walking in and out of our home. They all look the same: Eastern European, gold chain around their necks, big dark sunglasses.

Sometimes I could hear them laughing. But other times my dad would be barking orders at them in a language I couldn’t understand.

All I really knew was that it paid the bills, and we never struggled with money. Before I continue the story, you should probably know that I’m the second youngest child.

The youngest is my sister. We’ll call her Sooso, who was 6 years younger than me. Sooso was the only one in my family I actually liked.

During the slideshow punishments, she wouldn’t take the opportunity to laugh at me or try and make me cry. Instead, she would say as little as possible.

She had the type of heart that was impossible to turn evil. I always swore to myself that no matter what, I would always protect her.

I never knew how much that promise would ruin my life. One day when she was 10, she broke the forbidden rule.

We were sitting around the table in silence when she spoke.

Daddy, can I help you with work one day?

My spine stiffened. I didn’t even look up, just focused on twirling the peas around my plate with my fork.

You don’t need to know.

My dad’s voice was stern, like it was a warning.

But Daddy, I never get to see you, and I’m good at organizing.

Suddenly, my dad aggressively sat up from his chair so hard it fell over. But instead of dragging her to the corner and forcing her to hold the infamous wallsit, he just walked away.

I was even more scared than Sooso and was watching her with intense tunnel vision. Soon, my dad stomped back in with what looked like a black leather belt in his hand.

My body processed what was going on before my brain did. I immediately wrapped myself around her, and the first hit landed on my back.

This made my dad 10 times angrier. He used his strength to pull us apart and lock me outside.

I was forced to watch through the window as Sooso was helplessly wailed on. None of my other siblings even did anything.

They just retreated to their rooms and made sure not to get in my dad’s way. With each hit, I felt my heart grow colder.

That’s when I checked the time. It was 4:00 p.m. on a Thursday, which meant the CPS office would still be open.

I called them and quickly blurted out everything I could think of. The woman on the other side seemed extremely concerned.

I begged her to make sure that the claim stayed anonymous, that she didn’t expose it was me. She promised she would.

The next morning, I woke up to my dad answering the door to the social worker. He plastered on his gentleman-like persona.

Within 2 minutes, she had given my name and that I had called yesterday. There were a few seconds of silence after she said it.

This was the kind that you could only pick up on if you were looking out for it. My dad pretended to laugh.

Sometimes kids can get so confused.

This made her laugh, too. Instead of taking any other necessary action, she drove away.

What happened next is something I have no interest in remembering or describing. But that night, I spent hours crying. My entire body was vibrating with pain.

I think it was 2:00 a.m. when Sooso came to visit me. I thought she was going to hug me.

No, you shouldn’t have betrayed Daddy was the only thing she whispered before walking out.

That was the day my home went from North Korea to Germany in the 1940s. Me and Sooso used to break rules together in secret.

But now she was telling on me for everything. My older siblings started wailing on me when my dad was too tired to.

Sometimes this was for no other reason than they just felt like it. And I let them.

Once I was done, everyone would regret how they treated me. After Sooso’s betrayal, I basically shut down.

I stopped talking to everyone in the house unless absolutely necessary. What was the point? I’d tried to do the right thing, and it had completely backfired.

My back was covered in welts from the belt, angry red lines that stung whenever my shirt rubbed against them.

My own sister, the one person I thought I could trust, had turned on me. The betrayal hurt worse than any physical pain my father could inflict.