Haven't had much time to post, so I thought maybe I'd just add some old writings. "Old Cowboys" is a story that centers around domestic violence, and the cycle of abuse, which often seems to replay itself, even with the most valient efforts to live differently.
I'll warn you now, it's kind of disturbing, but I think it's worth sharing every once in a while because, unfortunately, this is the life that many children experience daily. Maybe even someone you know would benefit, since oftentimes adults caught up in this life of violence have a difficult time realizing the effect their own behavior is having on the children in their home. And...how much of an effect it will have on the adult that child becomes.
It's dedicated to Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. As a kid, I loved seeing them on TV. They'll never know how much.
ByMelanie Sita
The Oak console flickered to life. The little girl waited patiently as panels of red, blue and green one by one appeared on the screen. Wendy thought the beautiful bright colors looked more like a giant fan, but mother told her it was supposed to be a peacock. The fancy big bird meant the program coming on was going to be in color. She was glad. Mother’s husband had been late for dinner, so she'd probably get to watch it. A heavy mixture of cough medicine and Old Spice aftershave seemed to enter the room before he did. Wendy hated that smell, and the way his voice got louder as he talked. She was almost certain he'd been drinking. Nervous, Wendy slid closer to the screen. Maybe they'd notice.
"Get out of my face," he hissed as he staggered toward to bedroom.
Please. She thought, still staring at the TV. Please, mommy, leave him alone, she wanted to beg her mother, but didn't dare.
If only they'd get mad at her, she thought, at least mommy would be safe. "Don’t sit so close to that screen, it’s gonna hurt your eyes.” They could yell at her and forget they were angry with each other.
Wendy's mother followed him, arguing. "Please, don't," she pleaded silently. She could almost hear her thumping heart. Fury exploded in an instant. Trembling, her fingers struggled to turn down the volume just slightly. Inching closer, her eyes never left the TV screen as a lone deep voice rambled introductions. Strangely comforting, a huge cowboy, dressed in blue with squinty, but friendly eyes appeared. He was wearing a tall Stetson and sequined shirt with fringes. It was Roy Rogers. (continue)
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3 comments:
Melanie,
I am sitting here crying, feeling so many different emotions after reading your story. You are a very talented woman.
I was one of the many children who lived in a home with domestic abuse. I remember the first time my father hit my mom. I was 5. I cannot remember what they were argueing about - but I remember him hitting her and busting her lip. Then a few weeks later, he told us he had a girlfriend and he was moving out. I can remember that right after we found out - we had to meet this other woman. I was sitting and crying and he told me to dry it up, I didn't have anything to cry about. Then I remember going to this pig pen of a house and meeting this woman who looked dirty and having to spend the evening playing with her kids and watching her and my dad hang all over each other and kiss. We had just moved from a beautiful home that my parents had built, complete with a playroom inside to a playhouse outside. My brother and I each had our own bedrooms filled with the perfect "girl" and "boy" toys. I had a big canopy bed, a little set of table and chairs to have my tea-parties with my dolls etc. Then we had to move into this itty bitty house and sell so many things that wouldn't fit. That's when my dad moved in with his new girlfriend. Well, over the next few months, he and mom tried to work things out. Then, one night, he was late coming home. Mom let us kids go ahead and start eating supper. Then the phone call came that would change our lives. My father had been in an accident - he probably wouldn't live. My mom gathered us around the coffee table and we prayed. Then the police came and took her off to the hospital, with the sirens blaring. I still cannot stand to hear sirens. Well, Dad did not die. He had been changing the tire on a farm tractor. The jack slipped (or the cement blocks acting as a jack) and he was pinned under the heavy farm tractor for an hour and a half, bent head to toe. It broke his back in three places, bruised his spinal cord and he was paralyzed from the waist down. After spending a few months in the hospital he came home. We had to set a hospital bed in the middle of the living room because our house was too tiny to fit it in their bedroom. Dad made progress thru therapy so he could transfer himself from the bed, to his wheelchair, to other places. Soon the hospital bed went and he was back in a regular bed. He was able to get onto the toilet, so Mom didn't have to change his diapers anymore. But his temper began to worsen. He had always had a bad temper - but now he was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. (Spelling?) Sometimes we would come home and he would be mad that we were gone too long and everything he could get his hands on was laying broken in the house. It would take us hours to clean up - as he sat spewing accusations at my mom. He thought she was sleeping with any man who was in our life. My brother and I listened as he called Mom every filthy word in the book. I knew much more than any 6 or 7 year old should ever know. Then the beatings started. The first time came when they were in bed one night. It was very easy for him to get ahold of her that way. Then she moved out onto the couch and it happened as she walked by and he grabbed her. I can remember different times, but each time, my brother and I always ran out into the yard and screamed for someone to help. A neighbor would soon come running. I remember one such night, mom and I had been gone somewhere and came home to a madman. Dad was sitting in his chair, and he was accusing mom of sleeping with someone. the neighbor lady came over and both of them were trying to reason with him. Then, he got up and transferred himself to his wheelchair. I guess Mom didn't think he would beat her in front of the neighbor. Until this time, no one had ever seen him do it, except us kids. But he grabbed Mom and started beating like I had never seen. The neighbor lady was trying to pull his wheelchair back away and he started punching toward her. He beat Mom so bad that night, she went into shock. I remember being at another neighbors house - they had mom in their bed, covered up under the blankets, trying to get her shaking to stop. Every time we ended up at a neighbor's house after a beating, my brother and I begged Mom to not go back. We were so scared - but she always said he needed her to take care of him.
Finally, after three years of this, we did move out. And we were blessed to get a stepfather who was the most gentle man imaginable. He never raised his voice or got mad. He treated our mom and us so well.
So, I can relate very much to this little girl. I also loved Roy and Dale. :) The memories from our childhood never fade, and they definitely define who we become.
Thank you for sharing, Melanie. I am assuming you wrote this story from your own experiences too. It seems we keep discovering more and more that we have in common. But God will use every ugly thing we have endured in our lives, to help others. I'm off to church now. I hope you have a very blessed day.
Oh Jojo,
I'm so sorry...I can just imagine that whole thing. We also lived in wonderful places only to move suddenly in a chaotic "drama". When you go through stuff like that as a kid, it makes you extra sensitive about what other children go through, doesn't it? I truly appreciate you reading this. Hope it didn't bring back memories best left 'forgotten.'
Actually, it was funny that you said that these things 'define' who we are....because my next post was going to be called "Defined by Love". It's basically the format when I do concert/testimonies, explaining that very thing. Though many of us grow up being victim or prisoner to how we grew up, becoming "new" in Christ gives us every tool we need to be 'defined" by the truth; that we're Loved unconditionally, with an everlasting love, that never changes and never fails. AND...as sweet as Roy and Dale are (or were) they can't touch that:)
Love,
Melanie
ps. It seems I'm doing hair more and more...so much for the "ex" :)
Hi Melanie,
I have never been one to try to "forget" the bad times. I think talking about them is much healthier - and now with the Lord as my leader, I know He can use those circumstances to help others. I have never understood when someone suppresses a traumatic experience only to discover it later in life. I remember all the bad things and praise God for who I have become because of them. I was fortunate my father never physically abused my brother or I and the time of abuse to my mom only lasted about 3 or 4 years. My father is one tough cookie I will never fully understand - but I am glad we have always been a part of each other's life and when we've gone thru bad times - we always reconcile. The bad thing is - he will never talk things out - we just have to act like things didn't happen. Oh well - could be so much worse.
So what is your favorite hair service to do? I think I like haircutting and color best. Talk to you soon.
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