NOTE: The following story shows an example of how I exhibited signs of child abuse through play.
The Baby Chick: a story with signs of child abuse
We visited often during the summertime. On one particular visit, Grandma had placed a bowl of water under to the big pine tree in front of the white farmhouse for the baby chicks to drink on one hot summer day. I was playing in the front yard with two baby chicks. Back in Chicago, I played house quietly by myself in our basement apartment, while Momma napped. Pretending buttons and pennies were other kids, I gave each of them a name and asked them questions, and answered for them. When playing school with my older cousin, she peppered me with questions so this is what I thought school would be like. Playing with live baby chicks on Grandma and Grandpa’s farm was far more fun.
I pretended it was time to eat and forced their little beaks into some grass I had pulled up and placed on a piece of wood I pretended was a plate. They didn’t seem to like it. I then turned to the bowl of water, deciding this would be their milk. I picked one of the chicks up and stuck its beak in the pretend milk. The little chick head moved off to the side. I tried again, but the chick would not drink the milk. “Drink your milk!” I demanded of the chick. As I attempted to control its head, my hand hit the water bowl, spilling some of the water. Angrily I 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 whippin!”
I continued forcing the chick to drink the water, when suddenly the chick went to sleep. I laid it down for a nap in the bed I made out of wood and grass. Then I picked up the second chick to feed it. This chick didn’t listen to me any better than the first one, so I scolded it, “You can go to bed like your brother!”
No sooner did I lay the baby chick down next to the other chick, than it popped back up. I tried lying him down again and again, but he just wouldn’t listen. So I decided it was time for the chicks to get up from their nap. I picked up the obedient chick and gently shaking it, said, “Wake up sleepy head.” But it wouldn’t wake up. I picked him up with my right hand and tried to make him stand up by placing his feet on my left hand, but I 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 I thought, I walked into the house, holding the chick in the palms of my hands. Looking up at Momma and Grandma sitting at the kitchen table, I said, “He won’t wake up.” Grandma took one cold hard look at me and in a very matter of fact manner said, “You killed it. It’s dead.”
Momma had told me about the word “dead” when warning me of strangers. She said it meant someone would take me away and do bad things to me that hurt, and I would never see her and Daddy again. Momma also had told me about God and the Bible. I remembered her saying one of God’s rules was “Thou shalt not kill,” and how God punished the bad people who killed. Fear erupted in my stomach and felt like a hard punch. My knees began to shake. I didn’t mean to hurt the baby chick. In a scared, soft voice, I cried, “I’m sorry.”
Momma pulled me over to her and gave me a hug. I looked up at her and was relieved to see her looking down at me with love. Then she looked up at Grandma with eyes that said “I don’t like you.” Her eyes returned to me and she said, “It’s okay honey. It’s just a chick. You have to be more careful next time because they’re so little.” Grandma gave Momma back her “I don’t like you” look and in a sharp voice said, “There isn’t going to be a next time.” Then she looked down at me and said, “You are to leave the chicks alone, do you understand?” Relieved I was not getting a whippin, I nodded.
Though I had escaped Momma and Grandma’s wrath, there still was God to deal with. I wondered what he had in store for me. That night when I got down on my knees to say my prayers, I told God how I didn’t mean to kill the baby chick and how sorry I was. It was a prayer I would continue to pray every night for the next 7 years, asking for God’s forgiveness yet waiting for his punishment.
The Ditch
WARNING: If you are offended by foul language, you should not read any further. I felt it necessary to relay the actual langauge used in order to recreate the atmosphere in which these stories took place. My point here is to convey how it feels to be a child caught in the midst of violence.
Christmas morning of 1957 I awoke to a saddle under the Christmas tree. I was just about the happiest child on earth. It was a beautiful saddle, medium brown with intricate leather work. It was a gift from Momma’s father, Grandpa Reuben. At a time when a pack of cigarettes cost less than a quarter, that was a lot of money to spend. He was the Grandpa that was always nice to me and I loved him dearly. Not to be out shined, Daddy told me that Grandma and Grandpa Huntington bought me a pony of my own. I think my father might have just said that his parents bought me a pony for the sake of appearances because I have no memories of any moments of warmth from either his mother or father. The next spring when I visited the farm, there was a brown pony there and I was told it was mine, but I don’t remember naming it or feeling attached to it. And the next time I visited the farm, it was replaced with a different pony and there was no more talk of “my pony.” Riding ponies was the one thrill in my life that I looked forward all winter and spring, and to Daddy the important thing was that there was always a pony for me to ride when I went to the farm.
Daddy had talked Momma into this trip to the farm, selling it to her as a summer vacation. Momma didn’t go to the farm very often because she didn’t like Grandma Evylon, which by this time was now her archenemy. 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. Everything Momma was not. Though they seemed not to get along over little things, the real fight was over who had control Daddy.
Daddy had left for his brother Vern’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 alone with his Mother. She went in the trunk of the big yellow Oldsmobile convertible and pulled out a can of beer. It was warm, a fact that made her even angrier, and with each sip 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 beer.
“Get in the car,” she ordered as she moved the beer from the trunk to the floor of the passenger seat. I climbed into the front seat of the car, quickly as to not make Momma angrier than she already was. She turned left out of the driveway but soon realized she didn’t know where she was going. She pulled the car over, looked down at me and said, “Which way to Vern’s?” I had no idea but I was afraid she would become angry if I didn’t know, so I pointed straight ahead. About five minutes later Momma pulled the car over to the side of the road, finished off her beer and threw it into the ditch. She looked down at me again and asked, “Are you sure this is the way?”
At this point, I was terrified. What if she found out I didn’t know and acted like I did? I really had no sense of direction, but I knew if I told Momma I didn’t know, she might get mad at me. I had learned to live in the moment and in this moment my safest bet was to act like I knew, so I nodded my head.
A minute later my body was thrown forward into the dash, then into the door as the car crashed into the ditch. Scared and banged up, I began crying. “Are you okay Honey? Show Momma where it hurts baby.” I showed her my knee, elbow and the bump on my head. “Come over here honey,” In a real sweet voice she said, “Let me kiss it and make it better.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead. Pulling me close to her, she said, “That made it better, didn’t it?” It didn’t make me feel better, but I nodded my head and acted like it did because I wanted her to keep being nice to me.
When she finally released her hold of me, I sat back in the passenger seat. She lit a cigarette and reached for another beer from the floor by my feet and after opening it and taking a drink, she said, “You know, 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 ivory skin. “I was standing up in the back seat of the car and my Daddy had to slam on the brakes.” With one hand stationary and one pushing forward she gestured as she said, “I went flying into the front seat and my head went into a knob.” I liked it when Momma told stories about when she was a kid. “You know, I use to have beautiful blond ringlets when I was your age. My sisters use to curl my hair with rags.” Then as if our 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 fucking position if he hadn’t left us at that filthy pig’s house. Fucking Momma’s boy. Never marry a Momma’s boy.” I cringed inside afraid of what was to come.
In the distance we could hear a car approaching. Momma became quiet and I stood on the car seat, trying to peer over the ditch. It was Daddy. I quickly jumped out of the car, into the the ditch, burying my shoes in mud up to my ankles but I didn’t care. I knew I would be safe with him. I ran up out of the ditch and across the road towards him yelling, “Daddy, Daddy!” I jumped into his arms and threw mine around his neck. “How’s my girl? You okay?” he asked as he surveyed the situation. I nodded my head and wrapped my arms around his neck as tight as I could.
“Why the hell did you leave me with that fucking pig?” Momma yelled. Daddy started to put me down, but I held on tight to his neck. “Okay” he said softly as he brought me back up into a better grip. Momma glared at me and sneered, “She’s not hurt.” With just a touch of anger in his tone, he said, “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.” I now knew Momma was mad at me 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 reached back into the Oldsmobile, grabbing the 2 remaining beers. 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 Linda will stay at the Grace Hotel.” With a tone of voice and pace of words that let her know she would not get an argument from him he said, “All right Della” as he placed me in the back seat.
It was silent for the first few minutes as they drove to town. I thought about my pony and the new saddle, wondering if I would get to ride them again. Then Momma said, “I want some fucking money too.” Daddy didn’t answer. She reached over and tried to hit him with her fist as she screamed, “DO YOU HEAR ME?” He blocked her arm and in a defeated voice asked, “Della, what do you want?” “I want $20 until tomorrow and then I want to get the hell out of this hell hole, you understand?” He just nodded his head as he stared ahead at the road.
I dreaded the night ahead. I didn’t want to stay with Momma, but I didn’t dare let her know. And I knew begging Daddy wouldn’t help either. It would just make Momma mad. I was trapped. The rest of the evening was spent listening to Momma as her anger fueled her drunken rage. I did my best to keep her focus off me, praying, “Please God, don’t let her get mad at me.”
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wow i have seen so many kids get abused and this kind of stuff happen.. its very sad and artie i am sorry that this had to happen to you. hopefully you have over came that issue but i know it will never leave all the way everything stays in the mind even when you think it will go away. just be strong and dont let anyone else treat you like that you are human and do not deserve to be treated that way at all!
Thank you Tiffany. Though it has affected just about every aspect of my life, it has also made me the person I am. I appreciate your supportive sentiments.
Reading the last two made me cry. I used to be physically abused by my mother and sexually abused by my older brother and uncles I still think of the things tht happened and I always thought it was my fault. That I had done something wrong and that I deserved to be hurt. But after reading these I realize that it wasn’t. Not at all. Thank you.
Dear Neena,
Know that you did nothing wrong. You are a precious child who deserved to be protected from these horrible experiences. There are many books out there that might bring you a sense of not being alone in your journey. I’m not going to recommend a particular book, as when you go looking, the right one will speak to you. You will be drawn to it. I usually check out reviews on Amazon.com and armed with that information, I check my library and local second hand book stores.
Because you were sexually abused, you have layers of damage to your psyche that I know nothing of, other than the knowledge of how much deeper the damage goes. I encourage you to reach out to a therapist who specialized in sexual abuse.
Don’t let anyone minimize what you have been through or tell you “it’s in the past, just don’t think about it” or “get over it” or (my favorite) “you just need to forgive them” (No you don’t.) The choice you have before you is to reach out and begin the healing process or continue to stuff and minimize the feelings. They won’t go away, though some try to drown them out with alcohol and drugs.
As you begin your healing journey, know that allowing yourself to feel the pain of what happened to you is not near as hard as having lived through the experiences you have. Your a brave strong soul to have survived. I wish you light and love.
Artie
Wow.. The same thing happened to me. Only it was my dad that was drunk and couldn’t control himself. And we didn’t stay in a hotel. We went home. When we got home, my mom went out to the store. While gone, my dad sexually and physically abused me. When my mom returned, she found out what had happened but was too scared to leave him. So this went on for seven years. We finally got out of that situation about 5 years ago. Im 15 by the way. I’ve only told four people, including you now. It’s a very hurtful thing, and I wish there was something we could do to help other kids in this situation. Some kids, including me, never went to counseling or told anyone. Just held it in, because they thought it was normal or they deserved it. <- Not the case at all. No one deserves it. I'm really hoping to get involved in a group that helps children like us. I hope you are inspired enough to also. Keep telling people you're story and making differences. Much luck,
Brittany
Hello Brittany,
Know there are online resources for you to get support. We Are Survivors is a great one (http://www.wearesurvivors.org) Isolation is a huge factor in this crime. If you have told your mother, ask her to get you counseling. This is the kind of crime that affects you long afterwards in ways that you don’t even realize until years later. It affected the friends I chose, the men I married, they way I parented my own children, and the level of education I could attain. My self esteem was low and I lived most my life in a deep depression.