I told him again and again to stop pushing buttons on the remote control, but he persisted with abandon. The fourth or fifth time, I swatted his hand away with about as much effort as to brush away a nagging mosquito, but I must’ve hit the bruise he earned falling on the stairs a few days earlier. He stared at me coldly. Then he decided he was no longer interested in watching me play the bass per his request and walked away. “You don’t want any more music, buddy,” I asked?
He paused at the stairs, looked back at me, and then called up, “Mommy?” He looked back at me one more time to make clear I had brought this on myself.
“Mommy, Daddy hurt my arm.”
Two years, two weeks, and two days, that’s all it took the little manipulator. I didn’t narc on my mom to my granny till I was at least 4.