#youshouldwriteabook

I haven’t written much lately. I’m sorry for that. I’ve been very depressed about things that I will tell you about in time. For now, let’s continue where I left off.

There’s this church not far away from where I grew up. There was a time that my Dad didn’t live with us, and he lived in a second floor apartment across from the church. I would sit in the window, in his weird roommate’s LaZboy chair, and stare at this church. I wondered what it was like inside. I was taught priests were evil, and churches were beautiful to trick people into going inside. Could that be true? Because I really wanted to go inside. To this day, I drive by occasionally and I feel this longing to go inside. What would I find there?

When I was five years old, my father beat the hell out of my mother. I remember she was wearing an orange top, the sleeves were ripped to shreds, and there were bruises up and down her arms. I was wearing a white summer jumpsuit, with pink trim and little pink flowers and bare feet. My older brother Michael was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt which was also ripped, with white socks that were flopping at hjis toes, and he had a hand print on his neck. He was carrying my baby brother Nathan, who was wearing only a diaper. Together we fled the house, to escape my father but to also find my sister Jennifer who was out delivering newspapers. She was wearing jeans and white sneakers, and was riding a bright blue bicycle. For the rest of my life I will see the expression on her face when we found her.

I think about that day a lot. I have so many confused emotions about it. I remember not recognizing what was happening, and running to my room to hide. I remember my mother at the bottom of the stairs, screaming my name, and Michael standing on the front porch holdng Nathan. I didn’t cry. I don’t remember crying at all. This was my Dad, who I loved and idolized.

I never knew what the fight was about, or why he hit her, but it never happened again. Not ever. And as far as I can remember, it hadn’t happened before that either. So why then? Why that way? I don’t know. I’ll never know. I don’t think I could bring myself to ask him.

I remember the police coming to our house, when we went back to get our things. I was only;y able to take a backpack’s worth of toys with me. I chose the Barbie doll set I had received a few days before at my first dance recital. I remember my Dad standing on the sidewalk with a police officer, and the house a mess. 

Jennifer was sent to stay with my Aunt and Uncle, with the dogs. I believe Michael stayed with our sister Janine, who had moved out of the house by then. My mother, Nathan, and I stayed at a battered women’s shelter for a time, but I don’t know for how long. I remember the house was yellow, and there were so many women there. One very young girl was there with her newborn son, and I remember being so happy to be allowed to hold him. I also remember the women getting together to help make meals, and to build a large wooden play structure in the backyard. There was a boy who lived next door that was my age, and I remember walking with him to the store and getting penny candy. His name was Darren, and I will never forget him. He was my first boy crush.

Once my Dad moved out into his apartment across from the church, we were all able to go back home. I remember sleeping in my own bed again for the first time, and being so confused as to how quiet the house was. That was the first, of many times, that I was forced to accept a “new normal”. A life without my Dad being around, visitation, and child support.