Hope is a funny thing. I know a lot of people say "all hope was lost" or that "hope was fleeting". Then you have those who rely solely on faith... my all time favorite "You must have faith that God will provide!" Unfortunately God's idea of what I needed and what I really needed didn't always sync up. And even when I believed I had no hope left I realize, now, I never really lost all hope.
I grew up in a Catholic home and each week we went to Sunday mass (Mostly Saturday Night's)... Oh and the Obligatory holidays such as Christmas, Easter and the Saint whatever days etc... Now, my Granny prayed everyday while my Step Dad was such a "good" Catholic he went every morning during the week as well. I guess it is true when striving for "perfection" the devil is in the details... pun intended.
When I was young I would get put in a pretty dress and we'd go to church where I recited everything verbatim, sung the hymns, which I swear Catholics have a thing for death march sounding music and people watch. I also prayed a lot. I prayed that my step dad would be in a good mood when we got home. I prayed that my Mom's drink before dinner would be just one and not turn into a before during and after drink. I also prayed that I would be the kind of daughter my step dad wanted so I wouldn't make him angry. If I was lucky my step dad was in a good mood but the rest usually didn't happen. I figured God had more important things on his mind.
When my sister came along church was a little more bearable... mostly because she was a colicky baby. So I got to go into the "crying" room with her. I may not have gotten my prayers answered but I got to play w/ the babies in there so it kind of seemed like a good trade off. Plus the added bonus of Joanne settling down when I held her.
This was quite apparent her first Easter. Joanne was just about a month old and she was fussing thru out the morning. I even have a picture of her all dressed up in her Easter church outfit crying. Anyhow, that was the day that we all learned that when I held Joanne she stopped crying. Which on the one hand was pretty heady stuff. I mean all the adults couldn't coo or sing to her enough to calm down but a 5 yr old could.... I felt like I had a purpose/role in the family, finally. That in itself gave me hope....
Now, the downside, that I didn't understand until later, was that Ed (my Step Dad), really thought she should be "his" whenever he was home. I guess it really ticked him off that I took that from him. Maybe he didn't pray enough for patience or something? Who knows but now not only was I the baggage step child that didn't do what he wanted or stay in the place he decided for me but I, in his jacked up way, was usurping his time with "his" daughter.
I'm pretty sure this is around the time things with he and I went from bad to worse. It used to be if I did something he didn't appreciate he'd make what I called his weasel face and kind of tsk at me. He still did that but then the arm grabbing, dragging, spanking & jerking me around. Oh and the added bonus of angry words.
The first time I really remember him being physically and verbally abusive was during the summer I was around 6. Mom, Joanne and I had been at the pool all day. I always loved summer... the pool & camp for the first part of the summer and then going down the shore for the month of August.
Anyway, we came home and took showers and the other part I loved about summer was Mama would let my hair air dry since it was so warm out. So I was sitting at the dinner table playing with my hair not doing much eating and Ed got agitated. He gave me the look the tsk and told me to show my good manners and stop playing around. Ok, so being 6 I guess my idea of not playing around and his wasn't the same when less than 5 minutes later he growled and slammed his chair back. I was startled and scared when I saw him coming towards me. He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of my chair. I told him I was sorry and wouldn't do it again, to be honest I'm not sure what I was doing but I would've said anything at that moment. He started yelling about me playing with my hair and and I didn't listen and he was going to teach me a lesson. I guess I tried to pull away from him because the next thing I knew he had me by my hair and was dragging me up two flights of stairs.
I screamed and cried and apologized but he didn't seem to notice. I remember looking for my Mom and she was calling to him from downstairs but I don't think he heard her either. This was the first time I really saw the devil in him. His face turned a mottled purple and his veins in his head popped out. For a moment I really thought I was going to die. He finally got to my bedroom and swung me into the room by my hair. I remember hitting into the side of my bed and crying, telling him I was sorry. He was still yelling about bad girls with no manners and how I didn't listen....
I should have never turned my back on him but at that moment I just wanted to crawl on my bed. Somehow that made him more angry... He grabbed me by my arm and I turned just enough to see him raise his hand. He didn't just "spank" me and he did it more than once. He finally left my room telling me to learn my lesson.
I'm not sure how long I cried or how long it took but my Granny came upstairs to my room and went to hold me and comfort me. She was the first one to see the hand prints and it was the first time I ever heard her call my Mother with a tone of voice that even scared me. My Mama came upstairs and she looked at the hand prints and she was silent.
Granny was talking to Mama and I don't remember what she said but I do remember the look on my Mama's face and how quiet she was. Then all of a sudden she left my room & closed the door on her way out. The next thing I heard was her yelling at Ed, screaming about what he did, the marks he left on me... I couldn't hear what he was saying it was all murmuring. Eventually I fell asleep and the next morning no said anything about what happened the night before.
That's when I started learning about the great art of silence... No one knows what happens behind closed doors etc etc... It was also the time when I began to realize God, church & religion weren't going to save me.
The only one who would talk about it with me was my Granny. I'd always ask her why he did the things he did or say the things he did. She never really had an answer but at least I didn't feel like I was crazy. There were so many times I went to my Granny for safety or just solace. She gave me my hope and she helped me keep sanity. Even when I was 20 + yrs old she would make room for me on her rocking chair with her and just gently rock me. We didn't even need to talk... I always feel her with me and to this day I miss her.
I think I rambled more than enough tonight... Thanks for listening....
~LiliBitch
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