people like him make me believe in a hell...

At dinner tonight:
Me: God, I'm tired. It's only seven and I'm already ready to go to bed. I remember my sophomore year when I'd stay up til 4 like once or twice a week and be fine.
Dad: ...what did you just say? (his eyes turn dark and cold, and more black, like they always do when he's angry)
Me (not understanding why he suddenly became furious but trying to backpedal): Uh, like sophomore year. Two years ago dad. I definitely don't do that any more.
Dad (in a slow, quiet rage): You stayed up until 4...talking to your friends.
Me (meekly): yes....
Then all hell broke loose. My dad went BALLISTIC. He screamed that my sleepless nights were the cause of my academic problems my sophomore year (a B in Calculus and US History, oh my!), that I had lied to him my freshman year when I swore to him that I'd reform my ways after my black boy phase (but isn't that another story...) and that these were all indicators that I'd fail in college.
I quickly realized I needed to get out of this situation. I attempted to leave the table saying "I don't want to fight now, just pretend I didn't say anything and forget about it." This only made him more angry. His eyes got so heated.
My father's eyes are the most expressive thing about him. Unfortunately, they only express one emotion: rage. I can remember seeing those eyes as a little girl, maybe 6 years old, and knowing I was in trouble. This meant my dad was in one of his heartless-soulless-hurtful-screaming moods.
And when I saw those eyes tonight, I knew a switch had been flipped. My dad starting yelling. The longer he yelled, the more he worked himself up and the angrier he got. I cowered in my dinner chair next to him, and turned to my mother for help.
"Mom, please. Tell him to stop yelling. Tell him he doesn't need to. Tell him it was sophomore year!" I pleaded through my tears.
No matter how many times my dad has screamed at me over the years, I can't seem to harden to it. Each time he starts throwing insults, I burst into tears. I just can't help it. Believe me, I wish I could.
"I'm not getting involved in this." My mom pushed her chair away from the dinner table and started washing dishes. Seriously, mom? Pussy.
My dad continued raging. 
"YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE COLLEGE STUDENT WHO STAYS UP ALL NIGHT WITH THEIR FRIENDS DOING AMPHETAMINES AND FAILS ALL THEIR CLASSES." Oh damn. He had gotten himself going.
"THAT'S IT. I'M NOT GIVING YOU ANY MONEY FOR COLLEGE BECAUSE IT'LL JUST GO TO WASTE ON SOMEONE WHO OBVIOUSLY CARES MORE ABOUT THEIR SOCIAL LIFE THAN COLLEGE. THAT'S IT. I'M NOT PAYING FOR COLLEGE FOR SOMEONE WHO'S JUST GOING TO WASTE IT. YOU CAN GO TO STATE SCHOOL AND TAKE OUT STUDENT LOANS"
That was especially hurtful. The screaming went on, but I was fixated on those two points that he had made. He thinks I'm going to do drugs in college, and he thinks I am incapable of handling myself academically while in college. First of all, the 4am nights happened SOPHOMORE YEAR. I pointed this out to my dad, but he remained unconvinced. I also pointed out to my dad that I have always felt morally obligated to stay far away from drugs and alcohol, to the point where I don't even like taking tylenol because I don't like putting foreign substances into my body. This angered him even more. He felt like I was pointing out that he doesn't know me very well (which he doesn't at all) which is caused by the fact that he works a lot. So he started screaming on the tangent of how important his work is blah blah blah.
Maybe you're reading this and it sounds kind of lame to you. In that case, I'm sorry to have bored you with my self pity.
I guess what bothered me about this is that my dad had no reason to yell. I've been an exemplary daughter this year. I've worked extremely hard in school, kept up with my extracurriculars, and tried to help my mom out as best I can. I haven't been yelled at by my dad in months. I didn't deserve to be yelled at by my dad tonight.  My dad started a fight over something that happened two years ago.
I haven't been yelled at in a while. And in that time since I've last been yelled at, I've continued to mature as a person. Tonight, when my dad started yelling, I cried, but I tried my very hardest to remain mature. I explained to him that I wasn't like that any more, that I really had become a better person. Any response to his rants just made him angrier.

But you know what, my dad was wrong. Part of the reason I became emotion so quickly was that I couldn't even fathom someone, my own father, doubting my preparedness for success in college. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that the maturing I've done over the last four years (no thanks to him) has prepared me to go out on my own in college as a student who is prepared academically and socially for the adjustment.

It's funny, those late nights sophomore year were absolutely instrumental to my overall development throughout high school. I wasn't staying up late to talk to worthless, stupid, bad influences. I was staying up late talking to people who were so intriguing intellectually that I couldn't pry myself away from the computer. Sophomore year I developed my beliefs and really got in touch with my intrinsic morals. If it weren't for my those apparently horrible nights my sophomore year I wouldn't be prepared to turn down beers in college. I wouldn't be prepared to have a discussion over ANYTHING philosophical.

My sophomore year was a big turning point in my life. It was the year I dedicated myself to departing from the social life I led and pursuing a more respectable one. Sophomore year was a HUGE transition from the person I was to the person I am today. And transitions like that take time. And since I made the transition in mere months, it'd make sense that I'd have to be awake a little longer each night, right?

Fuck you dad. You have been and will continue to be only valuable to my life in the form of the money you put into me. You have remained uninvolved in my life physically (where were you at those band concerts and booster meetings?) and emotionally (won't ever forget the text I read on your phone telling your mistress you loved her. I can't remember you ever saying that to me).

So here's to independence. Here's to knowing you're worth more than anyone thinks you are. Here's to getting as far away as you can and proving yourself. Only  4 months and 24 more days until graduation.