She beat the stuffing out of me 🧸
When my father defended my honor
One of the few times in my life my father ever stood up for me was when I was home in 2010, visiting my family from college just before heading to Sweden for The 21 Convention to be held in Europe for it’s first time ever.
I had caught my sister’s druggie boyfriend stealing from my mom around midnight, and promptly removed him from the house. 24 hours later, the next night, I caught my sister stealing from my mom the same way when everyone was asleep.
She beat the stuffing out of me that night, chasing, punching, and assaulting me until our father pinned her against the kitchen stove to restrain her. Even then she tried to break free and attack again like a feral animal foaming at the mouth.
She then called the police and made up a sob story, falsely accusing me of a crime. I immediately called 911 upon hearing this, requesting they send additional officers.
Even as far back as 2010 I was well aware how sexist police and courts could be against men, and in favor of innocent little angel women.
Our mother Rosemary Johnson who saw the entire incident, remained silent, refusing to speak with the police once they arrived. My brother was too young for police to care.
It was my father - a lifelong domestic abuser and alcoholic - who told the truth that night. Police separated us and questioned the three of us individually. I exercised extreme caution speaking with police, measuring every word, speaking slowly and clearly.
His series of events matched the truth I told them, that she was chasing and attacking me around the house repeatedly.
When they placed the cuffs on her she began jumping and kicking and screaming like an animal. Hair and saliva flying around wildly.
When CCPD placed her in the back seat of the cop car, she tried kicking the windows out over and over, rocking the entire car as my father and I wrote out individual sworn statements for police on the hood of the car.
Bewildered, they asked us “Does she have a history of mental illness?”. I’ll never forget my answer that night.
“Not yet”
My father’s sworn statement is below, courtesy of CCPD records.
As the domestic violence victim identified by the state, I asked state prosecutors to not pursue charges against her. One night in jail and a temporary restraining order was enough punishment I thought. She was 18, I didn’t want to ruin her life with a serious criminal conviction.
I’ll never make that mistake again.
If you’ve ever wondered why I had a strained relationship with my mother, mentioned in my now infamous eulogy, stuff like this is why.
Just 10 weeks out from The 21 Convention in Europe, I’m falsely accused of a violent crime while briefly visiting my family. My father saw most of it, but my mother, was the only witness who saw all of it A to Z.
With her own eldest son facing an imminent arrest for a false accusation, that she knows beyond any doubt I didn’t do, she remained silent and refused to give a statement to police.
She was prepared to watch me go to jail and face serious charges for false allegations. Anything to protect her youngest daughter.
Rather than tell the truth like my father did, and send her own daughter to jail for a crime she actually committed that night, she was prepared to gamble the entire future of my life.
Can you imagine my public enemies in the media and the manosphere trying to hold domestic violence arrests and charges over my head? I would never hear the end of it. And that’s assuming prosecutors would drop the charges, which they probably wouldn’t against a big bad brother.
When I referenced “catastrophic mistakes” my mother made in her life, that means stuff like this. A potential criminal record that could have and would have ruined my life.
I had to watch my own mother abandon me to the whims of fate. Police couldn’t make heads or tails of what happened without another witness, and in Florida they have to make an arrest by law once violence has been established.
It was my father who saved me that night.
Why did he do it?
I never asked and we never discussed it. I have my theories. My father was an incredibly violent and cruel man, but he still had some sense of honor.
He had been through similar situations many times, when he was actually guilty of beating my mom and then cops showing up. The accusations were fraudulent and the reality was his own son was the victim of a violent crime that night.
My father did the right thing for once in his life, for his own reasons, and correctly sent his youngest daughter to jail in a cop car.
It’s one of the few things I’m thankful for him ever doing, even if she learned the behavior from him, just like my brother.
Alternatively, as always, I am blessed by the manosphere gods to always prevail against the dark forces of feminism and matriarchy no matter the odds.
/s/ Anthony Dream Johnson