In the beginning

Disclaimer: this essay was written in response to a discussion in my communications course, speech 103, The topic was "abuse in families and its effects on children" The truth of this essay rests in the hands of the many classmates vocalizing their thoughts over this much deserved debate. I would like to make it very clear that this is not a true story it is only my emotional reaction and interpretation of the debate in class that day. I titled it "In The Beginning " because it is relation to the circular motion which occurs in many of these situations.

A Child's Legacy

That evening was no different then any other
night. My father sat in his chair, shoulders
pulled back, posture raised high with a drink
in hand. The aroma of bittersweet vodka
rested on his breath. It was a delicacy he would
indulge in each night after a full days labor
in the office. He resembled a king sitting on
his throne, drinking from the Grail that gave
him the birth of his nobility.

Each time he spoke he had rage in his eyes
and his glass would sway from left to right.
His mighty words would be spoken only
once, when he lashed with his tongue like
a whip. “Pour me another drink,” he
roared, each time the clock struck the hour.
His voice would rise and sounds would roar
like crashing waves on a solid brick wall. In
a couple of hours my ears would grow numb
to the words he spewed from the tip of his
tongue.

I would stay very still each hour he drank,
hoping that he would not notice me while
the night turned today. For all those hours
I would crunch down low and hug myself
tightly to lessen my fear. I would squeeze
myself and gasp for air, while pretending
another person was there, nurturing and
loving me with the security of their hold.
Shortly, I would realize that no one else was
there, so my grip would weaken with
despair.

I pleaded for God to save me from the hell
of my home. “Please God I’m sorry for what
I’ve done. I won’t be bad any more. I
promise, Lord I’ll always be good, just take
me away from this cold dark home.”

The day passed then months and years but my
prayers were never answered. God left me
alone, cold and frightened, to fend for
myself in my own personal hell.

Quivering each night with tears in my eyes, I
would wonder if my father would he mad at me
this time. I had seen his anger attack my mom.
He castigates and beats her with his hands
clutched into fists. The whole time boasting
frantically about his manhood, his nobility as
king.

The night slowly passed and I was spared. It
was my mom’s turn to pay the price of the
legacy within our home. With swiftness he
struck again and again. He battered and
bruised her till she dropped to the floor.
He sucked the life right out of her soul. I saw
her strength diminishing from with in her heart.
I tried to yell STOP but no sound came out. I
just sat in the corner paralyzed with fear,
praying he would just disappear. I could see
the blood drop from her face on to the floor.
She attempted to stand then he struck her
once more. From deep inside my heart,
anguish raged. I finally had the strength to
yell, “Daddy I hate you! Don’t hit mommy
that way!”

He turned, looked and stared me down.
Instantly, I knew I was his next victim. Fear
overcame me. I tried to run as fast as my frail
legs would carry me, but I was not fast enough
to escape the tyrant. He grabbed my hair on
the back of my head, swiftly pulling my face
towards his. For a moment our eyes met and I
saw Satan reigned within his soul. He cocked
his arm back with fist of steel and all went
black for now.

I realize now the reason for my existences is to
continue the legacy that was passed to my
father from his father. I am doomed to beat my
children and my children beat theirs. It was
bestowed upon us the day of our birth.

10/14/1993