Yes sir, no sir, I won’t do it again sir, I promise sir, please don’t make me cry again sir. These were often enough the words I heard at my flat as a child growing up in a turbulent, argumentative, smoke-filled and stinking booze crazed household. Who was this sir?
He staggered down the street as my mother peered from the curtain and I watched her trembling hand cover her mouth with, oh no, he is drunk again. Thoughts of, I have to gather up the kids and get out of here, the only exit would be down our back stairs trying to avoid the rats that may be lurking there, that was if we were lucky enough to make it in time.
If not, we would go and hide under the bed or in the closet as my mum greeted this worthless scum and coward of a man who’s only reason it seemed for occupying space in our life was to cause more harm than good to the family. With tears in our eyes we would listen ever so intently as he stumbled up the inner staircase mumbling obscenities under his breath. Holding on to the wall to help balance himself from falling backwards to the bottom of the landing. Oh how we prayed he would fall and never be able to get back up.
When he entered the flat all one smelled was smoke and booze that lingered on his clothing from the local tavern he frequented, the stench of stale liquor and smoke still lingers in the subconscious caverns of my mind today and when I pass a bar, the memories come back in a flash.
My mum would do her best to calm him down and guide him to the kitchen so he could sit down and have a smoke and demand that a beer be opened and placed in front of him, god forbid if there wasn’t a cold one in the fridge. Hell to pay for my mum, a slap across the face or punch depending how angry he was at that moment, we would peak from our hiding place and sometimes see her falling to the floor and tears again would flow down our little innocent faces. Thoughts went through my mind of how I could help her, I was too little to help. But I wanted so badly to come to her rescue and be her saviour.
He would sit in his chair frothing at the mouth and cursing obscenities of accusations and bitter lies of things that happened in the past. We never knew what the past was, although he threw the past up continuously at my mother causing her to defend herself, but at the same time she feared his reprisals. He had a hair pin trigger of anger and would lash out at her with words that cut deeply and she never knew at any given time how he would react to her comments.
Now mom wasn’t a sit still woman either, she would banter back and forth with him, not knowing the danger and consequences that could easily follow. She took her life in her own hands and many times was found flat on her back on our living room or kitchen floor. My sisters and I would run to her side crying and screaming at this bastard who called himself our step father. When nightmares woke us up with fear, it was mostly brought on by the events that occurred that evening from this maniac monster of a man and tears and sweat poured from our little bodies.
Wetting of our beds was an embarrassing occurrence brought on we found out later from being afraid. just another of many symptoms of child abuse. Why oh why do children have to pay for the sins of their parents? We lived in constant fear of attack at any hair sprung moment, he would fly off the top without notice. We could be quietly watching our favorite t.v. program but at the same time out of the corner of our little eyes watching his every move and wondering to ourselves, if he was going to ask us to do something for him.
I made the mistake one night at the supper table of being caught taking my peas which I hated at that time, stuffing them in my pocket, to dispose of later. He saw me doing that and screamed at me to take them out of my pocket and place them back on my plate and toss my whole supper in the garbage, I was sent to bed without anything to eat. I could hear my mother crying as she stormed off into their bedroom.
While they were both sleeping I bravely and quietly went to the garbage to recover the hot dogs that I knew I still could find and eat and quickly found them and silently ate them in the quiet of my room, then fell asleep.
We had a pet dog but because he jumped up in a friendly gesture but tore the little girl’s dress our dog was taken from us never to be seen again. We cried every day for Blackie that was his name, but he never came home. My mother would just say he ran off, it wasn’t until I was 17 that I found out the truth. He was taken by this sir who brutalized our household to the back of our shed, a rope was put around his neck, he was put on one side of the shed door while this monster placed the full weight of his foot against the other side of the door and pulled with all his strength, apparently our neighbor saw this happening and heard the last whimper from our pet dog, but he did nothing as he feared this monster who lived with us.He killed our pet dog named Blackie. At 17 the tears came again and I held them inside with bitter anger.
My sisters and me grew into our teen years and the monster still lived and terrorized our mum and us. It could be mother’s day and he would bring home chocolates and flowers for my mum and that evening be smearing chocolate on her face and cutting up the flowers and flushing them down the toilet. He was a classic Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde personality, a sick man. He would bring me home a toy and watch me play with it and later in his anger be crushing it with his foot and kicking it across my bedroom. Tears again flowed from our faces.
He would bring home dolls for my sisters and watch them play with them and be so happy to have been gifted to only later find their heads torn off and thrown in the garbage, I would hear my sisters crying alone under their covers where they hid, with the hope of when they pulled them down they were in a happier place.
The police were constant visitors at our flat, trying to settle and quiet him down and offering comfort to my mother, but they never once took him away and we would plead for them to please take this monster away and never let him come back, we would hear warnings from the police, don’t do it again sir or else we will have to take you in. They never once took him to the in place, wherever that was supposed to be, instead he would be polite and tell them lies and when they left, our mum would pay dearly, it was not uncommon for our mum to wear sunglasses to hide the black eyes she would receive from him for calling the police. When will it all stop.
I was being called in at the principles office and given the strap more times than I care to mention, I was not listening to my teachers, I was a disturbance in my class, my grades were suffering and one wonders why? could it be from all the crap going on at home? could it be I just didn’t care? could it be I was losing my mind. All of these thoughts must have gone through my mum’s mind back then. I got through grammar school with a few scars, only to be expelled from high school for throwing a desk out of my classroom on the second floor and send it crashing down into the front entrance of the school.
Yes, the hate and anger I felt for this monster that lived with us came out of me at school and I was bitter, scared and ashamed of what was happening to me. There was something very dark entering my life force and I knew that if I wasn’t rescued from the evil side, I would perish. Thank God for the saving grace of a man in my life that altered the course and direction and path of destruction I was on. I share this first chapter in my blog about The boy from the bottom of the hill.
The tribulations that us children were put through at an early age by a demon of a man would offer challenges in our lives that we would have to overcome and deal with as we matured into responsible adults. All five of us had life altering experiences in that household but thank God today for the mercy he showed us to become decent human beings, he dried the many tears we cried and put a soft and loving heart into each of us. I promised myself when I was 17 after leaving that home of pain that I would never strike out at a woman with my fists and cause her bodily pain, I promised that I would not cause my children pain or have them shed tears as we did. It’s been a very difficult road I travelled but the experiences I was put through at an early age stayed with me as a reminder, never to hurt someone as we were hurt back then. I still get flashes of those earlier times and thank God for the miracles he performed in mine and my sisters lives.
The man I describe in this true account of living Hell went to his maker with a rope around his heck. He was arrested not to long after we had him arrested and removed from my moms apartment for breaking and entering by smashing her door down. He went to live with another woman and was charged with molesting her daughter, he was arrested again and taken to the local jailhouse. Two days later he was found strangled to death in his cel, to this day on one knows how it unfolded for him. But like our mum use to say to us as children, remember this, every dog get’s their day and we use to hear her say that to him. Well this mad dog got his reward and justice was swiftly given to him, God acts in mysterious ways.
God bless and protect the children in our world, may God have mercy on their little souls and protect them from monsters in their homes. No child deserves to cry because of the sins of their parents. Have mercy on the little ones, protect them from harms way, find them peace and solace in the confines of their closets and under their beds and other hiding places. Don’t let the bogeyman ruin their lives, give them strength to fight on and survive.
Protect them and keep them safe from monsters like we had in our life. Protect the parent who shows love and cares for their safety and who does their best to protect them. My mum, may you RIP with the knowledge that your children went on to succeed and do wonderful things and are respectful, kind, loving, giving and generous human beings, all because of your LOVE and protection.
We protected you the best we could mom as little tykes, we know now why God was so kind and got us through Hell. I pray that all the abused children, mothers and fathers of our world find refuge and peace, there are helping hands that will pull you through and they are your own private angels, we all have them. They will come to your rescue when you least expect it. They came to mine and my sisters…….
©Vincent Moore 2013