I was around 4 years old, living in Orange County in a mobile home park. The only child of a mom who got pregnant too early and a dad who never really grew up.
My mom worked a lot of different jobs trying to courageously provide and make things work with our little family. My dad, also worked when he could and/or wanted to, but at the time, was not the responsible person he should have been.
I remember sitting in the front room on a couch. Watching TV, most likely cartoons. Then I heard my mom crying. My father yelling. I opened the door to my parents room, which was about 15 feet to my right of where I was sitting.
My dad was beating my mom. I remember him having her pinned down on the bed. Repeatedly hitting her. Not with a closed fist. Slapping her. Over. And Over. And Over.
He then flipped her over onto her stomach. Sat on top of her, and proceeded to hit/spank her, as hard as he could. The most vivid part is what I remember next.
“Go ahead and call the cops.” he kept yelling.
I remember my mom getting free and running from him. Through my bedroom, which was next to theirs, through the bathroom attached to my room, until my dad finally caught her again.
After it finally stopped, I remember my dad blaming my mom. They both sat crying, on the floor, with my dad embracing her.
I remember crying. Standing and crying. Being afraid of my father. Scared.
The type of scared that consumes you like a lot of emotions do when you are that young.
I missed my Grandpa. I remember wanting to go see my Grandpa.
The next time I remember I was in 7th grade.
My best friend (and current business partner) was staying the night.
I remember my younger brother running in my room. Telling me that mom and dad are fighting and it has taken a turn for the worse.
I ran downstairs to see my father yelling at my mom and my mom holder her head.
I immediately put myself between my mother and father asking him, yelling at him “Did you hit her?!”
My actions were immediately met with “What are you going to do about it?”
I remember the ringing in my ears. My head had just hit the door that separates the garage from our kitchen. My father had just used his hand to connect the two.
“Please don’t say anything to anyone.” I said crying in my bed room to my best friend. Taylor was the first person I had told about my father.
These type of things didn’t happen every month. Sometimes it went years without something taking place. Off the top of my head I probably remember 5-8 instances.
My dad was never convicted, arrested, or even really reprimanded. He never changed because he was never forced to.
My mom finally had the courage to leave my dad after being together for 20+ years.
No jail time. Just counseling and community service.
With that being said, I am strongly urging the Board of Directors of RadiumOne to remove Mr. Chahal as the CEO.
Unless he faces true repercussions for his actions, he will not learn. He will not grow as a leader, boyfriend, or future father.
Please understand their our women like my mom, men like me, who have been affected by Domestic Violence that power the company you are about to take public.
Please do the right thing.
This is the first time I have talked openly about this part of my life.
My name is Stephen Espinosa.
I’m a Father. Googler. Entrepeneur.