>

Fucking coward. Hope everyone in his cellblock finds out.
Real big man punching a defenseless little girl. Makes me sick. >

On Christmas Day. Piece. Of. Shit. >

Piece of shit is putting it mildly. >

Slick back hair, white bathing suit, lives for new years eve. >

That poor baby. What a short, sad life. Hope this guy gets what he has coming to him. >

He should be fired, into the sun. >

Why should we offer that piece of shit a free trip to space? >

Context. What matters is where that space is located. Space in a jail cell. Space in a cemetery. Space between a hippo and her baby. A space between two Polar bears on the last piece of ice. 
A collision course with the Sun does not sound barbaric enough for a grown ass man that punches children. >

Fair enough. >

Why kill a child though? >

This kind of person has no impulse control, the kid was probably crying or doing something "annoying". >

It doesn’t matter what you do, when you have caregivers who are abusive, something will set them off and you, because you are dependent upon them, will be close enough to take it out on. She could carefully follow every single rule they had and it wouldn’t stop the abuse, because the abuse was never about her. >

100% truth right there. I grew up in an abusive household and there was nothing I could do to stop the beatings I received. I could be silent all day long and still catch a fierce beating with the belt for not doing something fast enough when told, or I'd be perfectly compliant all day and get a beating for telling my brother to shut up at dinner. I'd get punished for crying, for being moody, for playing with toys and forgetting to pick them up, for not doing my homework or doing poorly on a test. I got one beating for having a fight with my own friend, my dad said it was embarrassing to the family. Even when I did my best to behave there was always some excuse for the beatings. Abusers make it up as they go along, what was fine one day won't be the next, that kind of rage is just waiting for an excuse to erupt. >

TL;DR: I can relate, my father broke my humerus during a particularly violent beating because I told my mom I’d “get to the dishes in a minute.”

I have not shared this story with many people, but I’m sorta tired of keeping it. It’s violent and upsetting, so if that’s your thing…. Here we go. 
Little 12 year old me had just spent an hour coaxing my baby sister to sleep, and I needed to rest for a bit. So, when my mom told me to do the dishes, I said, “Okay, I’ll get to it in a minute.” I figured as long as I did it, it wouldn’t matter how quickly. This was apparently not only unacceptable, but way over the line. She told my dad, and he stomped up the stairs, so I knew I was in trouble…
My dad lifted my body from the couch by my hair, threw me to the floor, my bone snapped as I landed on sideways on the tile floor and I couldn’t even see or hear anything but the throbbing in my ears for a minute. I know he was hitting me, but I couldn’t feel the blows land. The pain started catching up, and I was sobbing by the time he once again picked me up by the hair to drag me to the sink. 
I tried to hide it, but my mother noticed I wasn’t using my dominant hand, which made her run and tell my my dad that I was being “dramatic as usual” and going slow out of spite. He stomped upstairs and hovered over me shouting; forcing me to use both hands to “prove” I was fine. To this day, I have never been in so much pain (and I went on to vaginally birth to a 10lb baby completely unmedicated).
Over 3 weeks went by before they took me for an X-ray. On the way to the clinic, my mom said dad was going to “feel kinda bad” if there was an injury and something that implied it wouldn’t happen if I wasn’t asking for it. My mom told me to say I “fell off the couch” that morning and I complied. My arm was broken and that was that. >

I'm so sorry you grew up that way. You deserved a better childhood. I hope you've found peace away from them. >

Thank you, I really appreciate that, more than you know. 

It’s been a really long time now since I carved out a more peaceful life; I got married too young, but, I lucked out with my choice of a gentle, kind man, and we’ve raised 2 bright, loving children without any of the violence or abuse I experienced. That toxic shit will die with my father, and I will grieve and celebrate on that day. >


That toxic shit will die with my father, and I will grieve  
and celebrate on that day.

You will too and the feeling is incredible. I felt it the day my father died, that sense of grief mixed with secret elation, and guilt for feeling it. I knew as a 30-something-year-old woman that my father would never be able to beat me again, no matter what, and it felt good. All that internalized fear died with him. Nobody understands it unless they've been through it either, they'll call me cold or unfeeling, spiteful, hateful etc but they don't get it, that was the first time in my entire life I'd actually been free. You can put miles between you, grow up and move on with your life but nothing erases the possibility of it ever happening again the way death does.