We all loved my grandmother. Even though my grandmother wouldn't taken my sister to visit with her overnight, my sister loved her very much. I remember one time when she and my mother had had some terrible fight. My sister must have been about 8 or 9. I remember that she packed a few things in her little suitcase and started walking to Grandma's. She got all the way to the intersection of Valley View and Higby Road before my mother caught up with her in the car and brought her back home. She got spanked for that, which I don't think was right because she was upset and instead of fighting with my mother, tried to remove herself from the situation, which was the right thing to do. My mother should have brought her back but talked to her instead to hitting her for doing the right thing. But that's the type of person my mother was. You didn't cross her or you got punished for it.
When I was in high school, I got a notion in my head that I wanted to go into radio. I told this to my guidance counselor Sister Mary Joseph, and then I told my parents, who were understandably upset since they wanted me to go to college. Sister Mary Joseph explained that I could go to college for communications and go into radio from there. I think my parents were shocked that she acknowledged my desire as legitimate but worked out a solution.
Later I wanted to take art classes as my electives in my senior year, or else go to the public school where I would be able to arrange courses better in order to take art courses. I sat down to talk to my parents about what I wanted to do. My mother became very angry with me, and I must have said something that set her off because she started hitting me and slapping me about my head. She hit me so hard that I couldn't think. She just kept hitting me and hitting me. Finally my father pulled her off of me. I still couldn't think straight for a while and my father tended to me, while my mother said he was babying me. He talked some sense into me about why it would not be a good idea to change schools in my senior year, and that I could do my art even without taking it as an elective. I calmed down eventually, but my mother never apologized for her abuse of me. My father never hit me in all my life, but when I was young, I had been deathly afraid of her spankings with the ping-pong paddle (I guess so she wouldn't hurt her hand); it stung so badly. This was the one time I remember that she had beat me with her hands--fists and slaps. Later in life when I told my therapist about this situation, he had me get a CT scan and an MRI to see if any damage had been done. My head hurt for a long time; I had a headache, and bruises that I tried to cover when I went back to school. Back then, the school did not have to report signs of abuse. There was no agency to handle it. But I did tell my counselor Sister Mary Joseph what had happened. I was so glad I had someone to tell about it. I know I told my grandmother, too, when I went to her house for dinner. But unfortunately there was nothing anyone could do. Thank God that my father pulled my mother off me before she did any permanent damage. I will never forget it.
That's one reason I only swatted Sabrina when she was little only one or two times when she wouldn't listen. I smacked her hand and I remember spanking her once. But I never physically hit her because I knew what a detrimental effect it had on me. My mother's beatings only served to increase my anger at her for not listening to me nor caring to hearing what I had to say about anything. And most of the beatings came from something I said that my mother didn't like. I will never forget how she looked when she was about to "lose it." She would grit her teeth and growl and hold back her hand getting ready to strike you. She sometimes broke things instead of hitting you. My drawers in my bedroom were broken where she slammed them so hard, and my dad had to glue them back together.
But as I said, especially when we were little, my sister bore the brunt of her anger, when she wouldn't listen as a small child. We also got hit for fighting with one another. Anything that annoyed my mother could set her off. But the beating I got about the art classes and senior year was the only time I remember her hitting us when we were older.
When I was in high school, I got a notion in my head that I wanted to go into radio. I told this to my guidance counselor Sister Mary Joseph, and then I told my parents, who were understandably upset since they wanted me to go to college. Sister Mary Joseph explained that I could go to college for communications and go into radio from there. I think my parents were shocked that she acknowledged my desire as legitimate but worked out a solution.
Later I wanted to take art classes as my electives in my senior year, or else go to the public school where I would be able to arrange courses better in order to take art courses. I sat down to talk to my parents about what I wanted to do. My mother became very angry with me, and I must have said something that set her off because she started hitting me and slapping me about my head. She hit me so hard that I couldn't think. She just kept hitting me and hitting me. Finally my father pulled her off of me. I still couldn't think straight for a while and my father tended to me, while my mother said he was babying me. He talked some sense into me about why it would not be a good idea to change schools in my senior year, and that I could do my art even without taking it as an elective. I calmed down eventually, but my mother never apologized for her abuse of me. My father never hit me in all my life, but when I was young, I had been deathly afraid of her spankings with the ping-pong paddle (I guess so she wouldn't hurt her hand); it stung so badly. This was the one time I remember that she had beat me with her hands--fists and slaps. Later in life when I told my therapist about this situation, he had me get a CT scan and an MRI to see if any damage had been done. My head hurt for a long time; I had a headache, and bruises that I tried to cover when I went back to school. Back then, the school did not have to report signs of abuse. There was no agency to handle it. But I did tell my counselor Sister Mary Joseph what had happened. I was so glad I had someone to tell about it. I know I told my grandmother, too, when I went to her house for dinner. But unfortunately there was nothing anyone could do. Thank God that my father pulled my mother off me before she did any permanent damage. I will never forget it.
That's one reason I only swatted Sabrina when she was little only one or two times when she wouldn't listen. I smacked her hand and I remember spanking her once. But I never physically hit her because I knew what a detrimental effect it had on me. My mother's beatings only served to increase my anger at her for not listening to me nor caring to hearing what I had to say about anything. And most of the beatings came from something I said that my mother didn't like. I will never forget how she looked when she was about to "lose it." She would grit her teeth and growl and hold back her hand getting ready to strike you. She sometimes broke things instead of hitting you. My drawers in my bedroom were broken where she slammed them so hard, and my dad had to glue them back together.
But as I said, especially when we were little, my sister bore the brunt of her anger, when she wouldn't listen as a small child. We also got hit for fighting with one another. Anything that annoyed my mother could set her off. But the beating I got about the art classes and senior year was the only time I remember her hitting us when we were older.
No comments:
Post a Comment