Thursday, September 23, 2010

Crazy is ..bringing children into a world and not loving them.

Spoke with someone from when we were kids. It made me think about a time that I had pretty much digested. One of the questions was why? Why was my sister so abused and she was. My father called it discipline, but it was anything but. You don't beat children till they bleed, you don' t make them stand on rock salt bare foot in corners till they can no longer stand. Yet that is exactly what my father did. It was a rather strict life style you either followed the rules or you were punished sometimes it was, no let me rephrase that, it was always unnecessary punishments.
My sister was very attractive she had sunshine in her eyes and a warmth in her smile. Dating was forbidden, talking to boys were off limits. I can honestly say that I don't really know why he chose to punish so aggressively. Could have been laughter or smiling, or being children. Lights out, than lights better be out or he would come up those stairs swinging that belt. It is funny if I think about it I can actually here the shuffle of his footsteps. I didn't want to go back, " don't you dare move!" if you jumped or cried he would swing that much harder. I remember the later years easier, if my sister skirt was wrinkled it would be a reason to beat her, if she put make up on, if her hair wasn't fixed right, if she spoke to a boy, if she was late coming home from school, if the dishes were not clean enough, if the table wasn't set, if she smiled, if she laughed, if she cried.
Didn't want to go back...no I didn't, but here I am. I see the gravel, the empty lot over grown with weeds, the railroad tracks, the river. the greyness of it all. I am not sure why my parents are yelling, my elder sister always got yelled at. "Take your little sister to her room," almost as if mother was prepared for an argument with my father. Get the little ones out of here! breaking glass, screaming, all night long, I couldn't sleep unless the train was going by... I learned to love that hum. I was nine years old, this particular argument escalated. My mother grabbed a knife, my father tried to take it off her, she was stronger than you would think a woman could be. My father turned to go out the door. Not once, but twice she placed the knife in his back, he called out for my elder sister as he fell to the ground. My brother and sister tried to stop the bleeding, it seem like forever till the ambulance came to take him to the hospital. Like the many times before and after he refused to name my mother as the perpetrator. Can't sleep, can't cry, holds my dolly. Every thing will be okay, daddy will be alright. Mothers eyes red filled with tears and rage. Why was this happening, did she hate him so?
The next day was quiet, my older sister spent the day cleaning broken glass. I went outside to play ball, the other children were not allowed to talk to me. Stay away from her, her parents are crazy. "Your mom is crazy, your mom is crazy!"Some of the children whispered, others chanted. I can remember their names, one day they were friends playing and riding a bicycle the next they were told to stay away from me. Was I bad? Is this why my parents did that? I was afraid, I was alone. We never spoke of it, we never asked questions. It was the secret that everybody knew. It was a rather confusing time, two people who held each other, hated each other so much that they destroyed each others lives. I talked to my Dolly's allot, I escaped into a world of fantasy. Children can be mean, did they know we were hurting inside? did they know we were confused?
I spoke with my eldest sister recently, she said"momma should have died when she jumped from the bridge" She said it would have been over, instead it happened over and over again. The short years of childhood were filled with violence, suicide, ugliness, punishments verbal and physical. The knives are hidden everywhere, don't touch them momma will be mad. They are under the sofa, under the pillow, in my bed, under the cushion of the rocker.She said "If he comes back in this house I'm gonna kill him" I heard the polices sirens I ran to the window, momma yelled at me" she said "run, run to the window, look for your daddy!" Were they taking daddy are they taking him away again? I feel like I am in the room I can see her holding a hatchet she is really mad, she really is mad at him, she keeps repeating she is going to kill him. She yells really loud to my sister, "I told you to get these children out of here. " She grabs my hand and puts my coat on, we go to the park and my sister see's her friends, I play on the swings. I am alone, "don't play with her, her parents are crazy." I have been alone my whole life, keeping the secrets so well hidden, that I myself had forgotten them, or did I?

2 comments:

Gail said...

Oh my- this is all so tragic. Your recall is vivid and raw and real - I am truly sorry for all you endured. :-( As awful as your truth is I am relieved you 'know'.because hiding from the truth is a huge job which ends in disaster. If u get a chance to read my post I wrote today you will see what I mean. ok? Meanwhile, I am holding you and honoring you and crying for and with you.

Love Gail/Annie(the kid in me)

Anonymous said...

ha, I will experiment my thought, your post bring me some good ideas, it's truly awesome, thanks.

- Murk

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