That Was What Hurt Me the Most Page 1
My mother never wanted children, but she fell in love with my father and ended up with three little girls.
I was born, the middle child. My father owned his own business, my mother took care of the house and kids. I do not recall her showing any emotion other than that of anger. I can not remember her ever smiling or hugging me. The most I got from her was a quick peck on the lips at bedtime followed by a very impassive ’love you’. Every time I picture her face from my past, it is so angry looking. The only feeling I can honestly remember is the sting of her rubber-soled slipper slapping my bottom, sometimes she would use a wooden spoon which was equally as painful.
My father was a monster. He was physically and verbally abusive to my mother and his two oldest girls. I never actually saw him hit my mother, but I do remember him yelling at her and calling her names sometimes, late at night. That usually only happened after a night of drinking with whatever friends they had at the time. My parents had many friends come and go because my father was cruel to everyone. They also ended up leaving most social gatherings after having an argument in front of everyone and making them all feel very uncomfortable. I know this because a lot of the time they would bring us with them and warn us to stay in the TV room with the other kids. The ride home was always the same. The smell of alcohol, my father yelling at my mother, my mother slurring her words with her eyes half open while they both smoked cigarettes with the car windows rolled up. The three of us would pretend to be asleep in the back seat.
Every memory I have of my father is a bad one. One time that sticks out was when I was approximately eight or nine years old. My older sister and I were in the backyard throwing a baseball back and forth. To help you form a mental picture I will tell you that my sister was very tom-boyish, athletic and physically strong while I was the complete opposite, girly-girl who wanted to take dance lessons -but my parents made me play baseball instead. So, my sister and I were playing catch and she was getting angry with me because I could not throw the ball directly to her. She would always catch it with some running but immediately yell at me to throw it properly, then proceed to whip the ball in my direction, -which I rarely caught. Each time this happened she would get angrier and throw the ball even harder.
I saw it coming at me in slow motion. I couldn’t make my legs move so I just turned my head. The baseball hit the side of my head so hard I thought it cracked my head open. The sound of it hitting me was horrifying. I touched the spot with my hand then looked at it. My vision was blurred from the fountain of tears falling from my eyes and as I looked at my hand I thought it was covered with blood. It turns out it was just dirt but at the time it scared me and I screamed. That scared my baby cousin who had been crawling around the backyard and she began crying. My mother and aunt ran outside. My aunt scooped up my cousin and my mother grabbed me. They brought us into the house where my father came running to see what had happened. As my father held my arm so tight it felt like he was twisting it, he demanded an answer to what had taken place. I could barely breathe but in between sobs I told them what had happened. My sister had come running into the house at that time and my father looked at her. The anger in his face scared her to the point that she could not stand still. Without hesitation she came up with a story that had me throwing the ball at my baby cousin as hard as I could, but luckily my sister stopped it from hitting her, then threw it back at me. My father slowly turned his furious eyes back to me. I knew what was coming so I braced myself. He hit me several times and even threw me against the wall. The whole time I was thinking about the fact that my mother and aunt were both standing there watching this happen. My older sister who was suppose to protect me watched as I received the beating she would have been getting if not for her lies. No one said a word. That was what hurt me the most.
- That Was What Hurt Me The Most Page 2
This is page two of 'That Was What Hurt Me The Most'. This story occurs around the time when I came to believe that my mother used me as an outlet for her anger. Through my eyes I saw a mother who went looking for any excuse to hand me over to my abu