Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Dad, you're hurting me

The year this incident happened 
I remember one afternoon sitting at that same table and you came in and before you took your seat, you walked up to me and took me by my left ear and started turning it around and around.   It became more and more painful but still I did not make a sound.   Then it became so painful and in a little voice I said “Dad, you are hurting me”.   “Come with me to the room”, he said.   I got up and followed him to one of the downstairs rooms.   He closed the door.   And locked it.  Behind the door was a plastic horse whip.   I had never seen it there before.   He took it down and flipped it through the air a couple of times.   It made a whooshing sound.   And then, unbelievably, it came down on me.  It rained down on my legs, between my school skirt and my socks.   It carried on for a long time and I watched it from the corner of the room.  I felt no pain.   I felt no emotion.   I was watching a movie that did not interest me.   And then I felt something running down my legs and I was back in my body and I could hear my father breathing heavily.   He appeared tired.   As though he had exhausted his energy by beating me with that whip.  I looked at him and said, “Are you quite finished with me?”  I never saw it coming.  His fist flew out so fast that I only felt the impact of the burglar bars against my back.   I had flown across the room.  He came, grabbed me by the school shirt with one hand and gave me another fist in my face.  I never shouted.  I never made a sound.  He just stared at me and walked away.   I went into the bathroom and washed the blood from my legs.   Not a tear was shed.   A feeling of gratefulness filled me because I knew that today he would not hurt my mother.  I still have the scars on my legs and the indelible memory of the event.  This is how I became a ferocious adult when I saw any abuse or injustice.  It is who I am now.   
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