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Dear Walt Disney Co.: Stop Enriching Abusers, Fire My Dad

I watched my father grab my mother’s arms, cross them tight and pin them so she could not move. He pulled them down with such force her knees buckled as she screamed in pain for him to stop. She would later tell me she heard what sounded like pencils snapping in her arm. My mother’s severely gashed right forearm was covered in blood. It physically sickened me. After being treated by paramedics, she would need surgery and years of physical therapy. The marks and bruises told only a small part of the story. Her doctor, a respected orthopedic surgeon, concluded her arm was permanently damaged and that she would never regain full use of it. To this day, she needs assistance her with simple tasks

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