The Baby Chick: a story with signs of child abuse
WARNING: The signs of child abuse are contained within these stories, however I do not go into descriptive details of the actual physical violence.
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. This is what my older cousin told me 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. Not knowing what kind of punishment lay ahead; fear erupted from my stomach, making my body tremble. Tears began streaming down my face. “I’m sorry,” I softly cried, when I realized I had hurt the baby chick.
Momma pulled me over to her and gave me a hug. Shooting an angry look at Grandma, Momma said, “It’s okay honey. It’s just a chick. You have to be more careful next time because they’re so little.” Perceiving Momma’s remark as undermining her authority, Grandma sharply responded, “There isn’t going to be a next time. You are to leave the chicks alone, do you understand?” Fearfully, I nodded.
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.
For my 5th Christmas Grandpa Reuben bought me a $200 saddle for Christmas. At a time when a pack of cigarettes cost less than a quarter, that was a lot of money to spend. Grandpa Reuben was always nice to me and I loved him dearly. I had been on horses since I was 4 years old. Upon hearing about the saddle, Grandma and Grandpa Huntington, who had always made sure there was a horse to ride when I visited, bought me a pony, however I didn’t get to see the pony until that summer when we took our next trip to the farm. Riding ponies gave me a thrill, for which I looked forward with great anticipation all winter and spring.
Daddy had talked Momma into this 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 Evylon, which by this time was now her 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. Everything Momma was not. But what they were really fighting over was power over 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. Momma went in the trunk of the big yellow Oldsmobile convertible and pulled out a beer. It was warm, a fact that 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 beer, and then another.
“Get in the car,” she ordered. Scared, I climbed into the front seat of the car, quickly, not to make Momma angrier 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?” I didn’t know but wanted to please Momma. Afraid Momma’s mood would turn angry, I pointed straight ahead. About few minutes later Momma looked at me and asked, “Are you sure?”
At this point, I was terrified. I really had no sense of direction, but if I told Momma I didn’t know, she might get mad at me. I could never tell what was going to happen when Momma was drinking. I took a chance and nodded my head.
Suddenly, my little body was tossed around the front seat 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 Momma my knee, elbow and a bump on my head. “Come over here honey,” Momma said in a real sweet voice, “Let me kiss it and make it better.” With that, Momma 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 Momma to keep being nice to me.
Momma released her hold and I sat back in the passenger seat. She 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 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 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 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 because I knew Momma was about to turn mean.
Momma became quiet when she heard a car approaching from the opposite direction they had been traveling. As the car slowed down, I kneeled on the car seat, I peering over the door. It was Daddy. I quickly jumped out of the car, into the muck of the ditch but I didn’t care. Knowing I would be safe with him, I ran yelling, “Daddy, Daddy!” jumping into his arms and throwing mine around his neck. “How’s my girl? You okay?” he asked as he surveyed the situation. I nodded my head and hugged my arms around his neck as tight as I could.
“Why the hell did you leave me with that fucking pig you call a mother?” 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,” 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.” 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 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. “All right Della” he conceded 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 screamed, “DO YOU HEAR ME?” as she reached over and tried to hit him with her fist. He blocked her arm. “Della, what do you want?” he asked in a voice that let her know she won. “I want $20 until tomorrow and then I want to get the hell out of this hell hole, you understand?” Daddy just nodded his head.
I dreaded the night ahead. I didn’t want to stay with Momma, but I didn’t dare let Momma know. And I knew begging Daddy wouldn’t help either. It would just make Momma mad. I was trapped, with no options. The rest of the evening was spent listening to Momma as her anger fueled her drunken rage and I prayed, “Please God, don’t let her get mad at me.”
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