The Secrets That Lay Inside Daddy… Why did you leave? Why did you and Mommy not get along? Why is this happening to Mom? I do not like it, not at all. They are hurting her, making her cry. Why Daddy? Why? This was all I could ask myself as I watched my mother be hurt not only mentally but also physically. There was the one who hit her as if she were a punching bag, and the other one that never took no for an answer, and the one who super needy. I remember the day she had us meet him, the one with the devilish hands and no control. He said his name was Christopher. He was so nice the first month or so, took us out to eat, to the movies, and bought my brother my sister and I things we needed. My mother meeting him and wanting to be with him is the reason I moved approximately 7 hours from my father. It was already hard for me going from seeing him every day to every other weekend, if that, the moved caused me to only be able to see him in summer and either Christmas or Thanksgiving. I wished we had lived closer to my dad, especially with the stuff Christopher was doing. He had no control over his actions. Well, he had control, but did not think twice before doing something. For instance, the time everyone in the house was laying down, ready for bed. My sister, (Bre is what we called her), and I were dozing off, almost asleep, when all of a sudden a horrifying high-pitch scream, no not scream, a cry, came out of my mother’s mouth. I jumped up in the blink of an eye, running towards her room. The door was locked, but my sister quickly found the key to open it. As soon as the door went flying open I was… I couldn’t… what kind of person does that? He had about a handful, a whole HANDFUL of her hair in his devilish hands. My mother sat there holding her head. My little brother was in the room the whole time, but did not witness what happened. He was sound asleep, until the screech my mother let out awoke him. We asked her why he did it. No answer. We asked him why he did it. No answer. And to this
day I still have no answer on that question. Was it an argument that had gone wrong? Or was it intercourse that had gone wrong? I will probably never know… From that day on I kept my distance from him. Never was I around him alone. He taught me that this world is full of all kinds of people, and how to be strong without showing the terror I feel. The day I remember the best is the day he was removed from the picture for good. At the time we lived in an apartment complex on the second floor. We were on our way back from the store. The whole way home it was nonstop bickering over why he couldn’t help pay for the groceries. When we finally reached the apartment my neighbor, Juan, was grilling some mouthwatering steaks for the Cowboy’s game. My brother, sister and I were carrying the groceries inside, when a loud sound came from outside and Juan was screaming “Jessica! Call the cops!” as he tackled my mom’s boyfriend. I charged towards the door without hesitation, looked down the stairs, and there laid my mom, hopelessly, with blood squirting out of her nose and blood stains on the stairs. I was speechless, but thoughts were filling my head quicker than the spread of a wild fire. Are you stupid? It’s groceries, why make such a big deal out of it? Do you feel like a man yet, Because, you sure don’t look like one. You have a lot of balls to do sure thing. Why are you so immature? Seven stairs, the seventh stair is the one she reached before he had enough of her and decided it would be a “bright idea” to push her down. The cops came and took him away. As they pulled away, I let my anger out and shouted “I hope you ride in the back of that car with pride you f***ing prick.” He was later sent back to Mexico, due to being an illegal immigrant. I was only 13 years old at that time. I was not the type of person who tells people about what happens at home because I was scared, scared I would be taken away from my mother. In the sixth grade I gained a best friend, one who to this day is still my best friend. Her name is
Veronica. It was her who I was able to tell everything to, and one day I was out with her mother and her, and I could not focus. I broke… I told her mom what was happening at home and that I was scared to be there because when my mother was at work my sister brother and I were left alone with Christopher. We had no way to call if something were to happen to us. We had nothing but each other. To be honest, telling her mom was one of the best decisions ever made. She bought me a cell phone, which she paid the bill on every month. With it, I felt safer than before. Her mom always checked up on us, and she would let Veronica stay the night when I was scared because my mom refused to let me stay at other’s houses. Veronica’s mom, (Veronica), was a blessing to my family. He was gone, but the terror and confusion I was feeling continued. Not knowing if someone new, but the same would enter my family. I would have thought my mother would have learned from her relationship with Christopher, but she didn’t. There were many others who came and went. About three years later she got a new boyfriend, Javier. He started off just like Christopher, nice, but his true personality was hidden under him, as he tried to be accepted by us kids. Just as before, we were taken out and got things we did not need. It was as if pampering us was the way to gain our acceptance. It may have worked for my mother, but it did not work for me or my sister. My mother meet him through my aunt’s husband. She would have big dinners and invite them all. He was (and still) is extremely loud. Let me remind you that this “man”, Javier, is to this day living under the same roof as I am. A man he is not, more like a child. He likes to live under the rule that women are house wives and men are supposed to work. My mother is somewhat a house wife, but she refuses to not work. She says “The day I kick him out I will be able to take care of y’all on my own. That’s why I still work.” He wants the house to be clean
when he comes home from work. He wants everything handed to him. Which he gets, because my mom is scared of him. That’s the reason why she won’t let him go. One day I asked “Mom, if he treats you like you’re some piece of trash why do you say with him?” and her response was “He told me if I leave him he will kill me and my family.” He treats her like shit. One day I woke up in the middle of the night in need of water, so I went to the kitchen and I heard them in there so I sneaked to the living room and peeked into the kitchen. She was asking him why he had just gotten home, and he said he was working late. Then I saw something reflect the light. I came out of hiding and walked into the kitchen. “What were you expecting to do with that? Does it make you feel manly? I dare you to use it, come on go ahead.” I expressed as I walked towards them. Ohh, he was quick to put the knife down. And he replied “I was just playing. I wasn’t going to do it.” I had nothing else to say. I stomped away without getting my water. I have gotten to the point where I cannot sleep until I know for a fact that my mother is asleep. It would not be way if he knew how to keep his stupid little hands to himself. On random morning I would wake up and when I saw my mom she would have new bruises on her. He hits her for the most stupid reasons that seem like the world to him. If she doesn’t have food prepared for him once he gets home from work there is an argument. With him arguments lead to shouting and hitting. My mother gets hit about 3 times a week or even more than that. This is no exaggeration either. She has been living this lie for about 2 years now so she is use to it. But who in his world wants to know that their mother is use to being hit if things around the house are not done? I don’t think anyone does. I know I sure don’t, but that’s the life I am living. My dad has offered numerous amounts of times for me to go and live with him, but I can’t. For one, I refuse
to leave my mother, and two, he is unstable and cannot hold down a job, and three, I do not want to ruin my education by changing states. I have seen my mother go through hell, and to this day she still is. It terrifies my little brother to death. He will hear then shouting and crawl into bed with me crying. My sister is on her own with her own little family now. I am the oldest child in the house now, and I have to keep strong. I can’t show them I am scared to come home. I can’t tell them I cry myself to sleep due to fear. I can’t talk to my mother like a mother. My sister is more of a mother to me. She did take care of me most of my life. And now I am my brother’s mother. I take care of him. He is still too young to understand what is going on around him and why this is happening to our mother. I have to tell him “John, I know I do not like seeing it either but, it has been happening for years now. If she hasn’t learned yet, will she ever? She is the other person who can change this. She’s the only one that has the ability to get herself out of this mess.” I don’t remember having good teenage years. I may only be 16 at the moment, but I dedicate my life to school and to my little brother. I had to grow up faster than others my age. Watching people come and go out of my mother’s life taught me I can only trust myself. And honestly, it made me become scared of guys. Yes I have dated guys before but I am scared they will hurt me, like the guys that hurt my mom. I would rather date girls, which I have. Girls are more sensitive. They understand better, and know how to treat others. Girls know how a girl wants to be treated, and how to treat them. I am terrified of relationships, because I don’t want to end up like my mother. She had been beaten, cut, and screamed at, while in front of her own children. Me ending up like her is a nightmare I wish will never come true. My mom put her trust in all the guys who came and went, and the guys who hit her, and who took advantage of her. Due to that, to seeing her hurt and drown in the trust she put in
people, I have trouble trusting people. If I do trust a person, it is because they showed me they are capable of handling me and my life and can help me. Watching my mom suffer gave me the ability to be strong. The ability to be strong helped me grow up fast. Growing up fast took away my childhood. But, not having a childhood doesn’t hurt me, being a witness to my mother’s pain hurts me. I pray one day it will stop, but until then I have to be her solider and protect her and my brother at all time.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of those individuals.