Five (5) hours sleep is definitely better than three (3)! Hopefully, I'll sleep better, tonight.
When I finished blogging last night, you'll recall that my Mom left our home. Alone. Without me. Without my younger brother Glenn, who was not quite five (5) years old at the time. Please keep in mind that I was only still 12 years old and not quite 13, at the time.
Glenn had been sick in bed all that day. His fever was raging. Glenn never got up to even eat, for he didn't feel well, at all. At the time of this incident, I didn't really know if Glenn knew what was happening, but for sure, later he did.
This left me alone with my Dad, who continued raging even long after my Mom walked out. He swore at me, threatened me and insisted I make him something to eat. Which, I did. I thought it might calm him down, but it really didn't.
Afterwards, my Dad continued on with raging at me. He opened a kitchen cabinet. Picked up a glass. Threw it down onto the floor, near where I was standing. It smashed. Then, he began screaming and swearing at me to sweep it up; clean it up.
I got the broom and dustpan and began sweeping it up. Still screaming at me, telling me how much he hated me, my brothers and my Mom, he took another breakable item and did the same thing. As I was cleaning up one mess, he created another. And, another. And, another. Always near where I was standing at the time; although he never hit me directly, broken glass was flying around my feet, continually. Until he found there was nothing breakable left in any of the kitchen cabinets. In Dad's anger, he even managed to break a few pieces of melmac dishes; they were supposed to be virtually impossible to break, but he found a way!
All the while, as I was sweeping up the broken mess, he threatened me, claiming he would hurt me if I didn't hurry up and get the mess cleaned up.
Believe me when I tell you that even though I didn't burst into tears, I felt inside like I was dying. Tears did stream down my face. I recall Dad screaming at me, saying that if I didn't stop crying, he'd give me something to cry about.
I had always known my Dad didn't love me. As a young child, about four (4) years old, I recall trying to climb up on his lap for a cuddle, but I was rebuked. He had told me there was no way he ever wanted to cuddle with me. Still, this night of terror was even worse than just being disregarded, for I truly did not know whether or not I would be physically hurt. I was terrified.
When I finally climbed into bed, I couldn't sleep. Every noise in the house made me become alert once again, for I was terrified my Dad would hurt me. I recall thinking about God. Why would He let this happen to me? Would Jesus protect me? Eventually, I drifted off.
Before my Dad left for work the next morning, he woke me up. Mom wasn't home. Dad told me not to leave the house. He had disconnected the telephone, so I could not call out for help, from my Mom or anyone else. Some of you might be old enough to remember before telephone jacks existed, our telephones had to be hard-wired into a telephone line, usually in the wall. Of course, at the time, I didn't even know where my Mom was.
My Dad made it clear that I was to do as he told me, or else. Else what (?), was my concern. In the past, once again as a young child, I had experienced him beat me until I thought I would die; on that occasion, he tore up my favourite stuffed animal and threw it, along with all my other few toys into the coal furnace, when we lived in Detroit. My Mom managed to rescue part of my stuffed rabbit, and did her best to sew it together again, but it only had one (1) ear, after that.
So, here I was, once again, wondering if I would be beaten within an inch of my life. For sure, I was going to do what Dad told me to do. I didn't even want to think about what the consequences of disobeying him would be.
Dad yelled at me, making it clear that I should not try to leave the house. In fact, because he had a passion for carpentry work as a hobby, he had a myriad of tools and accessories in his workshop. He took long spikes and nailed the windows shut, so I couldn't open them. He nailed both the front and side doors shut from the outside, so that he could enter when he returned home from work, but I wouldn't be able to get the door open to try and leave.
Glenn, was still very sick with fever, so I bathed him in cool water. This was when I noticed spots appearing on his body. At first, I didn't really now what he was coming down with, but later, I found out it was Chicken Pox.
As you can see, there is more to be written about, so please bear with me and read tomorrow. Thank you.
Until next time...
If you would like to comment, please e-mail: email@example.com