Why Do Children Cry?

113299541_ae5bb18f1e_mYes 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


Why Do Children Cry? — 30 Comments

  1. Vincent, the bastard who hurt your mother and sisters got exactly what he deserved and should have suffered more. You know that i can relate because of a stepfather named Charlie who was a drunk and hurt my mother badly before she got up enough nerve to leave him. God bless all the children who are going through this today. Thank God we survived and turned out pretty darn good..Stay strong and keep writing my Dear poet friend

    • Yes he sure did get his at the end. Karma has a way of catching up to you when you least expect it. It was a rough life at home watching and listening to all the fighting that took place. He was an abuser and we all put up with him for far too long. I am thankful to have never lifted my hand to a woman or child. God was wit me through all those ordeals and I was saved.

  2. This is a deeply moving post that puts one’s own life in perspective and balance. How a large adult can hurt a small child is beyond my imagination – and the fact that it happens means we must all be more vigilant. .

    • Yes I could never come to grips with the reasoning behind any man or woman wanting to hurt children, let alone abuse them sexually. Being vigilant is very important, we must never think for a moment that everybody is innocent out there, a wolf comes in many colors, shapes, sizes and profession.

  3. They always say the the one’s who are evil get their due in the end and I really believe that. Passing this moving and emotional piece on. Hugs to you.

  4. Hiding under the kitchen table with you my friend………… I know what that’s like. My heart aches for you and your siblings and your mum…. (((((((((((((((((((Vincent))))))))))))))) hugs to you dearest poet.

    • Thank you roxi, I thought you might have some association to my words shared in this poem. It was a nightmare at it’s worse living at home as a child. Hugs right back at you dear poet.

  5. When I read these words, I wanted to reach out through my tears, and comfort your mother and all of her children, time and again. And poor little Blackie. “The sins of the father.” It is a miracle that you survived, and have the courage and humanity to write of this horrific event. Each word, Vincent, is his epitaph. What a legacy to leave behind. These words will live on, and cut to the quick of it. Hugs, dear, amazing poet.

    • Yes dearest Genna, they were definitely his epitaph and very deserving to end his life for the crimes committed upon us. My dear mother took the brunt of his evil, she did it for us, to keep us united and not sent off to foster homes. Fortunately once we grew to older teens and out of that hell hole, I was able to get her away from him, she eventually found a wonderful man, they married and lived out their lives in peace, both are now buried side by side. The Demon, he was found in his cell strangled with the very shirt he wore. I never shed a tear.

    • Yes God bless all the children of our world, may families stay united and not separated as I have had to endure for the past 15 years. I miss my children, yet I trust my creator has plans, why would a man or woman be deprived of the love of their children? I pray they come around before I depart from this earth.

  6. Why indeed, do we make children cry. This sickened me reading it, but I stayed with it to the end. I’m so sorry of the abuse you, your family and your pets endured. You are a finer man for having survived it and sharing it through your writing. Peace and love be with you.

    • Yes its from my past, I’ve healed from it, yet I will never forget it. I share it in poetry form, with the hope that anybody else out there going through the hell I went through as a boy can find some solace as well as help to get them out of it. Thank you for your comment Denise, much appreciated.

      • No matter how much time passes there are days of rememberance that creeps into the psyche, like when i see a man who looks like Charlie, i remember and the hurt is still there. If only the people who hurt us could vanish from our thoughts, that is what i wish for. Much love Vincent, my dearest poet friend..

        • Yes those faces do come back to haunt us from time to time, I am happy that they are past faces and not present in my life any longer. The only face I miss is that of my dearest sweet mother. The men in life all belong in Hell if there is such a place. Peace and blessings my poet.

  7. So sorry Vincent at your hellish nightmare of childhood. I can barely imagine how you cope with your demons that must haunt you. Childhood is not meant to be like that. However so wonderful to see you’ve flourished and are a survivor mentally and physically! Hugs! :-))

    • Well I can’t say that I flourished, yet I have survived, a few bitter scars carried with me, yet I move forward every day. I wish the childhood I had on no living human being. Children should never be exposed to sins and lusts of their parents.

  8. Oh Vincent, the horrors that never really leave you.
    You have written this in such a wonderful way. My heart goes out to your mother. What a wonderful woman she must have been , trying to protect you and your sisters, but receiving the painfull end of the stick herself.
    I hope she knows how wonderful a man you turned out to be.

    • Yes she did up until her death 10 years ago. She was a wonderful, caring, loving, tender soul. I miss her terribly, but know that one day not too far into the future, we will meet again and know each other. Thank you for your kindest of words always dear Dim. hugs

  9. As one coming from a loving, caring environment my sister and I were truly blessed. As a child growing up and on through our youth and teenage years into young adulthood I gradually became aware of friends or acquaintances who were experiencing something of what you have shared here though in my experience no-one suffered at the hands as you have described. This accounting moved me to tears. It’s so hard to understand. It’s a miracle the situation didn’t escalate to something extreme/fatal. This was most compelling to read and your words will surely help others through a similar ordeal. The darkness you’ve seen…I just can’t imagine. Childhood is supposed to be such happy years. This saddens me. Your survival and conviction inspires me greatly Vincent.

    • Yes I agree what you wrote about childhood supposing to be happy years, for many they are, but for a family such as the one I was raised in, no it was not. My dear mother got too caught up with the wrong men she introduced into our lives. It was those men who disturbed our lives and turned our little worlds around at the time. I lived through it and am very thankful for the guiding hand. I write my poetry with the hope that it reaches out to those who went through similar abuse or are going through it now. Hopefully my words may help them heal or find help. Thank you Don for reading this piece and your kind words. I am happy you were raised in a loving and caring family.

  10. I am breathless as I read this story. My childhood was hard too. I love the children and am a total child advocate. I look back at my life as you do, and know I had to make a choice. Do I want the cycle of shit and violence to continue or not? My life has not been easy, but I know my parents are proud of who I became just as you Vincent. I Love your writing. God Bless You.

    • Thank you Laura for stopping in to my site and leaving me your very touching comment. There are many like us out there who remember and will never forget our past, yet live to share it with others, with the hope that our abuse will help them out of their possible present situation. For the sake of the children in our world, abuse has to stop.

  11. You know how I’ve felt about this and the horrible man who abused your mother and all you kids. He got what he deserved, but not before harming so many others. But the justice in it is that he never could really have known any peace or joy and those he tormented have gone on to know both, though through difficulty brought on by his meanness. I don’t quote scripture much, but my first thought reading this was “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.”

    • Yes indeed Nellieanna, he received his just rewards and it couldn’t come soon enough. He put us through Hell too many times with abuse mostly to our dear mother. I am thankful to have survived this tragedy, I lived through it from the age of 10 till I left home at 17 and never looked back, only to help my mother eventually release herself from his grip and with the police we got him away from her, but he ended up with another woman and raping her daughter, arrested and killed in his prison cell. We all cheered over his demise.

  12. Vincent……I’m disappointed he’s dead. I have this great baseball bat and a really wicked SWING! I was the prize Home-Run hitter in our women’s fun league…..Oh what fun we would have practicing our swings on the head of that Son-of-a-bitch!!” WHACK!!! AND IT’S ANOTHER HOME RUN!! May he burn in excruciating pain forever more……….You and your sisters are proud survivors…..Bless you all.

    • Yes my friend, he has received his just rewards as I mentioned to Nellieanna and I know he is burning in Hell if there is such a place. We were all pleased when he met his maker in a prison cell, strangled with his own shirt, other prisoners don’t take kindly to a man raping a child. Bless you sweet lady, I’ll have to remember to stay away from that mighty swing, Paula at the bat. lol

    • Yes indeed it was my dear friend, unpleasant memories draw the poetry from my soul, as did this work. Hugs