Note: These stories are copyrighted (C) 2009. We hope by sharing our child abuse stories, and discussing the surrounding issues, we can educate people regarding the effects of child abuse and lend support for child abuse survivors.
The Ditch
Daddy had talked Momma into a trip to his parent’s farm, selling it to her as a summer vacation. Momma didn’t go to the farm very often because she didn’t like Grandma and Grandma didn’t like her. You could say they were archenemies. From the outside looking in, they were like night and day. Grandma was from the country and Momma was from the city. Grandma was attractive, but quite average looking, though she thought of herself as pretty; 5’2”, a little overweight, mousy brown short permed hair. Momma on the other hand was beautiful; 5’6”, slender, dyed dark hair with perfectly unblemished ivory complexion. Hers was the kind of beauty that every one felt compelled to comment on upon meeting her.
Daddy left for his brother’s farm, 5 miles away, a couple hours earlier. Momma felt he should have been back already and was angry that she was left for so long with his Mother. Momma went in the trunk of the big yellow Oldsmobile convertible and pulled out a beer. It was warm, a fact which made her even angrier and as each minute passed, her anger boiled. “Why the hell did he leave me here?” she fumed. “Fucking bastard thinks he’s going to stick me out in the sticks with that pig of a Mother of his.” Ten minutes later she opened and drank another.
After her third beer, she ordered, “Get in the car Artie.” Scared, Artie climbed into the front seat of the car, quickly, not to make Momma madder than she already was. Momma turned left out of the driveway but soon realized she didn’t know where she was going. “Which way to Vern’s Artie?” Five year old Artie didn’t know but wanted to please Momma. Afraid Momma’s mood would turn angry, Artie pointed straight ahead. About 5 minutes later Momma looked at her and asked, “Are you sure?”
At this point, Artie was terrified. She was only 5 years old and really had no sense of direction, but if she told Momma she didn’t know, she might get mad at Artie. She could never tell what was going to happen when Momma was drinking. She could be as nice as those people on television, or she could be real mean to Artie.
Just then, the car hit a big bump and Artie’s body flung forward, her head hitting the dash, then sideways into the door of the car. Momma had slammed on her brakes and drove the car into the ditch. Scared and banged up, Artie began to cry. “Are you okay Honey? Show Momma where it hurts.” Artie showed Momma her elbow and a bump on her head. “Come over here Artie,” Momma said in a real sweet voice, “Let me kiss it and make it better.” With that, Momma leaned over and kissed Artie’s forehead and pulled Artie close to her and said, “That made it better, didn’t it?” It didn’t make Artie feel better, but she nodded her head and acted like it did because she wanted Momma to keep being nice to her.
Momma reached for another beer from the floor by Artie’s feet. Artie hated it when Momma drank. After Momma took a drink she said, “You know Artie, when I was about your age I was riding in the back seat with my Dad and he had an accident too. See this?” pointing to a small round scar on her forehead, the only blemish on her perfect skin. “I was standing up in the back seat of the car and my Daddy had to slam on the brakes. I went flying into the front seat and my head went into a knob.” Artie liked it when Momma told stories about when she was a kid. Then traveling back in time, she said, “You know, I use to have beautiful blond ringlets when I was your age.” Then as if their situation just dawned on her, she hit the steering wheel with her open hand and yelled “God Damn him. We wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t left us at that filthy fucking pig’s house. Fucking Momma’s boy. Never marry a Momma’s boy Artie.” She cringed inside because she knew Momma was turning mean.
After a few minutes Daddy pulled up in a black car. Artie quickly jumped out of the car and ran over to him yelling with joy, “Daddy, Daddy!” She jumped into his arms and threw hers around his neck. In Daddy’s arms, she knew she was safe. “How’s my girl? You okay?” he asked as he surveyed the situation. Artie just nodded her head and kept her arms around his neck as tight as she could.
“Why the hell did you leave me with that fucking pig you call a mother?” Momma yelled. Daddy started to put Artie down, but she held on tight to his neck. “Okay” he said softly as he brought her back up into a better grip. Momma glared at Artie and sneered “She’s not hurt,” Daddy angrily replied, “She’s scared Della, you just drove a car into the ditch. The kid’s scared, you could have killed ya both” “She’s making a big fucking deal out of nothing. She’s not hurt.” Now Momma was mad at Artie too.
Daddy looked around and said, “Get in the car, I gotta go back to the house to get a chain to pull the car out.” Momma yelled, “I’m not going back to that fucking pig and her sty,” as she grabbed the 2 remaining beers from the Oldsmobile. Resigned to a no win situation, he asked, “What do you want to do Della?” “Take me into that fucking little hole in the wall you call town. Me and Artie will stay at the Grace Hotel.” The tone of his voice and pace of his words let her know she would not get an argument from him. “Alright Della” as he placed Artie in the middle of the front seat, next to him.
It was silent for the first few minutes as they drove to town. Then Momma said, “I want some fucking money too.” Daddy didn’t answer. “DO YOU HEAR ME?” she screamed as she reached over Artie and tried to slap his face. Artie scrunched down closer to Daddy as he blocked Momma’s blow. “Della, what do you want?” he asked in a voice that let her know he would appease her wishes. “I want $20 until tomorrow and then I want to get the hell out of this fucking hell hole, you understand? Daddy just nodded his head.
Artie dreaded the night ahead. She didn’t want to stay with Momma. But she didn’t dare let Momma know. And she knew begging Daddy wouldn’t help either. It would just make Momma mad. She dreaded the night that lay ahead.
Issues within “The Ditch” Child Abuse Story
Child Abuse Undermines Confidence: Artie never knew what would set Momma off into an abusive episode. Sometimes it was something she did, sometimes it was something in Momma’s head. The never knowing left Artie thinking carefully about her every move and word. She needed to know when the blows were coming so she could try to protect herself with her arms and legs. This kind of “walking on egg shells” leaves child abuse survivors always questioning themselves, robbed of anything resembling confidence.
Passive Child Abuse: Although Daddy appears to be “the good guy,” he clearly was a passive participant in the abuse. His wife jeopardized his daughter’s life by drinking and driving, yet he does not make it a point of contention. Additionally, he knew about his wife’s abuse and though he was able to block her blows, he did nothing to stop her from beating on Artie.
Dynamics of Power: Because Daddy acted powerless against Momma’s anger, Artie saw him as just another one of her victims. She empathized with the one person who had the power to act on her behalf and did nothing. The unspoken message this sent was a powerful one: she was powerless and at Momma’s mercy.
Child Neglect: Artie clearly is just playing a minor part in these two adult’s roles. They are self absorbed and either do not, or choose not to, see what impact their behavior has on their daughter. Artie is irrelevant as their lives are filled with drama and it is all about them.
The Baby Chick
Grandma had placed a bowl of water under to the big pine tree in front of the house for the baby chicks to drink, as it was a hot summer day. Five-year-old Artie played in the front yard with two baby chicks. Back in Chicago, she played house quietly by herself in their dark basement apartment, while Momma napped. Pretending the pennies were other kids, she gave each of them a name and lined them up in rows, asking them questions, and answering for them, like when she went to kindergarten. Playing with live baby chicks on Grandma and Grandpa’s farm was far more fun.
She pretended it was time to eat and forced their little beaks into some grass she had pulled up and placed on a piece of wood she pretended was a plate. They didn’t seem to like it. She then turned to the bowl of water, deciding this would be their milk. She picked one of the chicks up and stuck its beak in the pretend milk. The little chick head moved off to the side. She tried again, but the chick would not drink the milk. “Drink your milk!” she demanded of the chick. As she attempted to control it’s head, her hand hit the water bowl, spilling a little of the water. Angrily she said, “Now you did it! Now you spilled your milk! You are going to sit there all night until you drink your milk. Do you hear me? You drink ALL your milk or I’ll give you a whipping!”
She continued forcing the chick to drink the water, when suddenly the chick went to sleep. Artie laid it down for a nap in the bed she made out of wood and grass. Then she picked up the second chick to feed it. This chick didn’t listen to Artie any better than the first one, so Artie scolded it, “You can go to bed like your brother!”
No sooner did Artie lay the baby chick down next to the other chick, than it popped back up. Artie tried lying him down again and again, but he just wouldn’t listen. So she decided it was time to get up from their nap. She picked up the obedient chick and gently shaking it, said “Wake up sleepy head.” But it wouldn’t wake up. She picked him up with her right hand and tried to make him stand up by placing his feet on her left hand, but she just couldn’t get the chick to stand up on his own.
Thinking surely he would listen to Momma and Grandma because everybody listen to them she thought, she walked into the house, holding the chick in the palms of her hands. Looking up at Momma and Grandma, she said, “He won’t wake up.” Grandma took one cold hard look at Artie and in a very matter of fact manner said, “You killed it. It’s dead.”
Momma had told Artie about the word “dead” when warning her of strangers. Momma said it meant someone would take her away and do bad things to her that hurt, and she would never see Momma and Daddy again. Momma also had told her about God and the Bible. She remembered Momma saying one of God’s rules was “Thou shalt not kill,” and how God punished the bad people who killed. Not knowing what kind of punishment lay ahead, fear erupted from her stomach, quickly overtaking her little body, making it tremble. Tears began streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” she softly cried, when she realized she had hurt the baby chick.
Momma pulled Artie over to her and gave her a hug. “It’s okay honey. It’s just a chick. You have to be more careful next time because they’re so little.” Grandma quickly chimed in, “There isn’t going to be a next time. You are to leave the chicks alone, do you understand?” Fearfully, Artie nodded.
That night when she got down on her knees to say her prayers, she told God how she didn’t mean to kill the baby chick and how sorry she was. It was a prayer she would continue to pray every night for the next 7 years, asking for God’s forgiveness yet waiting for his punishment.
Issues within “The Baby Chick” Child Abuse Story
Child Abuse Red Flags: In the story “The Baby Chick” there were several child abuse flags that would alert one to the fact that Artie was being abused. Children often play out what has happened to them. Artie played house with the chicks using the same abusive words spoken to her. When you see children using these types of phrases in their play, be alert to other signs of possible child abuse. Children play what they experience.
Never knowing how the child abuse will respond: In this instance, Momma chose to respond lovingly. Perhaps it was because she was in the presence of her arch-enemy, Grandma – her mother-in-law. Artie never knew how Momma was going to respond, in a kind or abusive manner. And unfortunately for Artie, Grandma had no patience for children nor a desire to be sensitive to her feelings.
How the child interprets unspoken messages: Artie knew punishment at the hands of Momma to be so harsh as to make her body tremble at the thought of the word. God was suppose to be bigger than Momma and the thought of how bad his punishment would be terrified her. The fact that she had never been punished by God thus far and didn’t know what to expect, was scarier yet. There are two issues here. First, when a child is overly terrified by anything, be alert for other signs. Second, watch how you talk to children about God. Everyone has their own belief system however Children take things very literal so think of how what your about to say will sound from a child’s point of view, before you speak.
Darrell: A child Abuse Story
“Artie, wake up” Momma said as she pulled Artie’s arm in an effort to get her to sit up in bed. Sleep deprived, she whined, “I’m tired Momma.” “You can sleep tomorrow. Tonight I need someone to talk to.” Knowing she had no choice, Artie got up and walked into the kitchen and sat on the chair. The clock above the refrigerator said 1:30 am. On the table sat a bottle of VO, a glass, Viceroy cigarettes and an ashtray. “You want some Pepsi?” Momma asked as she opened the refrigerator door. Artie nodded yes. Momma opened a bottle of Pepsi and sat it in front of Artie before she sat down.
“Honey, Momma doesn’t have anyone to talk to. My sister’s are in Chicago and I don’t even have a fucking phone to talk to them because that bastard you call a father is too cheap to pay the phone bill. It ain’t right. I need someone to talk to. I feel like I’m going out of my fucking mind!” Artie was cautious, not wanting to say or do anything that would change her good mood and risk a whipping.
“Do you know how much you are loved? How much I wanted you? I was afraid after Darrell, afraid something would go wrong again.” Then a tear rolled down her cheek as she revisited her past. “My little baby boy,” she said sadly. She lit a cigarette and took another drink from her glass. Artie knew a long night lay ahead. She did like hearing Momma tell her stories. She just wished it wasn’t in the middle of the night.
“Darrell was before you were even thought of Artie. Your father was a Sargent in the Army stationed at Battle Creek, Michigan when your brother Darrell was born. We lived in a tiny 1-bedroom apartment on the Army base. September 7th, 1949. That was the day he was born.” Another tear rolled down Momma’s cheek as she continued, “ I knew something was wrong because they wouldn’t give him to me. They took him away. He was born with a collapsed lung. The doctors told us to take him home and love him because he would only live a couple weeks.” Another sip from her almost empty glass helped her stuff down her feelings.
“I spent my days and nights praying, begging God to let him live. I told God I would do whatever he asked, if he just let Darrell live. When October passed, I was hopeful. He was gaining weight. His little face was getting chubby.” She smiled at the thought. “When November passed, my hope grew. I treasured each day with Darrell. I thought, ‘Maybe the doctors are wrong. Or maybe God is answering my prayers.” She poured more VO into her glass and walked over to the kitchen sink to add some water.
When she sat the drink down, she reached for and lit a cigarette. “You know, they were wrong about me when I was 4 years old’. I had double pneumonia and doctors had given up on me for dead. Then Daddy went into the hills and fetched an old woman who doctored folks with herbs. She placed a poultice on my chest made from little brown onions and made me drink the juice. While I was delusional with fever, I envisioned a beautiful Silver coffee pot with black handles on both sides. I never will forget that coffee pot. Three days later, I was outside playing with my sisters when the doctor stopped by. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He said it was a miracle. That’s what I was asking from God, a miracle.” She took another drink from her glass and flipped the ashes off her cigarette.
“Every time there was a change in Darrell’s health, no matter how small, I took him to the doctor. They would check him over and send us home with the same advice; ‘Take him home and love him.’” Another tear slipped down her cheek as her thoughts traveled back. “We managed to scrape up enough money to take him to a photographer to get his picture taken. I tried to get him to smile but he just wasn’t feeling good that day.” Artie knew the picture Momma spoke of. It was the only picture Momma had of Darrell. He was a pretty baby with chubby cheeks, blond hair and blue eyes, though the expression on his face revealed his struggle to live.
Momma continued, “By late November, we realized how cold and drafty the apartment was and wanted to move. The fucking army screwed your father’s pay up and we didn’t have any money. Damn them to hell! I hope they all rot in hell!” Artie wanted to keep Momma from being mad, and turning mean, so she asked, even though she knew because she heard the story before, “So what happened to Darrell Momma?” That was enough to bring Momma back to the story. She took another drink from her glass and continued.
“The night of December 14th, 1949 Darrell started running a fever. I wanted to take him to the hospital. When your father got home from work, he didn’t think Darrell was sick enough to go to the emergency room. God damn bastard made me sit and and argue with him. Do you believe that? I fucking told him something was wrong. When we got to the hospital, they examined Darrell and told us they wanted to keep him overnight for observation. They said we could come back tomorrow and handed us a brochure with the visiting hours. I kissed my baby on the forehead and told him ‘Mommy will be back tomorrow. I love you.’ And with that, we left him in their hands and went home.” Mommas face crinkled with pain as the tears rolled down her face. Another sip helped her gain her composure. Reaching over to the ashtray, she put her cigarette out and continued.
“On the way home, we made plans to get me to the hospital the next day while your father was at work. It was late when we got back home. We got in our pajamas and went to straight to bed. It wasn’t three minutes later, we heard a knock on the door. Your father got up and answered the door. There was a soldier standing there. Saluting your father and said ‘You’re needed down at the hospital Sir.’ That’s all he said.”
“We threw our clothes back on and drove to the hospital. I was going out of my mind with worry but when we got there and told them who we were, they told us Darrell was in room 503. We hurried up to the 5th floor and when we got to Darrell’s room I saw he was laying in a crib, looking at a wall. I went to pick up my baby when, it took me a second to realize, “OH MY GOD!!! NOOOO! NOOOO! PLEASE GOD, NOOOO!” Momma face could no longer hold back her pain as she relived the worse day of her life. With tears streaming down her face, releasing the pain she carried with her through the years, she continued with her story. “My knees just buckled. Your father caught me. Darrell was dead already. His eyes were open and he was looking at the wall. They didn’t even warn us! Why didn’t they let me stay with my baby? Why did they send me home? I wasn’t with my baby when he died. He died all alone.” Momma broke down sobbing.
Artie felt helpless. She wanted to take Momma’s pain away so she did the only thing she knew how. She walked over to Momma’s side, gave her a hug and said, “It’s okay Momma.” Momma gave her a hug with one arm and patted her on the back, as if she was protecting herself from feeling the love she felt for Darrell. She composed herself with another sip of VO. “They left us in the room with Darrell. Once I had my bearings, I picked up my dear little baby and held him for the last time. I remember staring out the window of the hospital. My heart felt like it was going to burst. All I could think of was how much I wanted to jump out the window and die. Then I would be with my baby. I wanted to be with my baby, that’s all. Your father must have known what I was thinking, because he took me by the shoulders and said, ‘It’s time to say goodbye Della.’
She looked at Artie and asked, How can I say good bye to my baby? My heart was exploding with pain as I held my sweet little boy tight in my arms.” She closed her eyes and shook her head as tears streamed down her face she continued. “I kissed him over and over. I didn’t want to give him to your father. How do you let go of your baby knowing it’s the last time you will ever hold him? The last time. Your father took my baby from my arms and laid him back in the crib. Every bone in my body still aches for my baby boy.” She looked at Artie, knowing she would never replace her baby boy. She lit another cigarette.
Once we got back to that cold drafty apartment, your father turned on the radio. “I’ll have a blue Christmas without you” by Elvis Presley was playing. Every time I hear that song, I think of my sweet little Darrell.” Tears started rolling down her face as she reached for her glass of VO and water, took a drink and began singing;
“I’ll have a Blue Christmas without you
I’ll be so blue thinking about you
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree
Won’t be the same dear, if you’re not here with me
I’ll have a Blue Christmas that’s certain
And when that blue heartache starts hurtin’
You’ll be doin’ all right, with your Christmas of white,
But I’ll have a blue, blue Christmas”
Artie hurt because Momma hurt. She wanted to take Momma’s hurt away. All she could do is wrap her arms around her and tell her “I love you Momma.” Momma patted Artie on the back and said, “I know Artie. I know,” as she took another drink from her glass.
Issues surrounding this child abuse story.
Everyone in Momma’s world thought if they didn’t talk about Darrell, she wouldn’t think about him, therefore they acted like Darrell never happened. After all, there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Better to move on. Furthermore, they expected the birth of Artie to fill the hole Darrell left in Momma.
Because she never learned how to express pain in a healthy way, and without anyone to listen to her pain, Momma turned to alcohol. She was like a tea kettle. When her feelings reached their boiling point, she had to let some out and getting drunk allowed her to express them and release the pressure, even if the only one listening was her 7 year old daughter. Getting drunk served that purpose, for a while anyway, until the feelings in the kettle started boiling again.
Momma’s needs were so huge, they made it next to impossible for her to see anyone else’s, even her daughter’s. Artie tried to be what Momma wanted, but because that was an impossible task, Artie grew up feeling what ever she did, it was not enough.
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