ANGEL RANCH

Before meeting short, dark, and handsome, mom and we three children had seen our share of dysfunction. At that time I didn’t know the term for our condition, but I knew it wasn’t right. Mom was estranged from my father and met this new man who would become my stepfather. He was of Guineas decent, and my mom thought he could be the one. It didn’t take long for me to notice that he wasn’t.

He was extremely jealous, and he became enraged when men complimented my mother. He began to take the phone to work with him, so that mom couldn’t talk on it. He didn’t want her cheating. He would scream and yell at mom about anything, and I began to hate him. He never tried to harm me until my sister and brother came to live with us. I guess he couldn’t take the pressure of the three.

Before mom gave birth to his son, I remember he liked my sister quite well. He wasn’t as hard on her as he was with my brother and I. She was the pretty girl, and I was an ugly, bucked toothed tomboy. My brother was just my father’s son. I found out early that I would be responsible for many things. When mom found work, I was his mini slave. I was the remote, house cleaner, and baby sitter. By this time, the hatred for him began to grow and fester, but not until the physical assaults began, did I realize how much one could hate another human being.

It started with yelling and escalated into many bouts of violence. He pulled our ears when we misbehaved, but he pulled so hard it felt like they would fall off. Next he began to use his fist to hit us in our foreheads to help us recall what we’d done wrong. As if that weren’t enough, mom gave birth to his son, and my responsibilities increased.

By this time I was 8 years old, and I found out there would be more to my story. Mom became ill, and I had to instantly learn how to cook. Between maintaining A’s and B’s, changing diapers and the television, babysitting, and trying to be a child every once and a while, I also had to endure the increasing physical and mental violence that was to come. He began to call us little dumb niggers, and I didn’t understand because mom was black. It hurt me to see my sister and brother enduring his violence because I was the oldest and couldn’t do anything to help them. He began to hit us in our spines with wooden karate sticks, and the blows to our foreheads became more violent. He’d lock my brother in a closet, and make us search the whole neighborhood for him. We’d find out later he’d been in the closet the whole time. One day I needed out because I was physically and mentally drained. I couldn’t protect my sister and brother, and I found out I couldn’t protect myself. He called me into the bathroom and began chastising me about something. Before I could answer, I was lying in the tub with a split lip. He punched me in my mouth and I landed in the tub, where my head hit the tile wall. Lying in the tub that night, I realized something had to be done.

I went to school the next day determined to help my siblings and I. I asked the teacher for help, and told her that I no longer wanted to go home. I pointed to my mouth, and told her the story behind what had happened. I remember her because she instantly found help for me. Armed with the information I‘d provided, Child Protective Services came to school, and took me to the hospital, where my sister and brother soon joined me. His son wasn’t removed from the home because he was never beaten. We were removed from the home and placed in a shelter with children that varied in age. I didn’t totally understand what was going on, but for the first time in a while, I felt safe. I thought that I had save my siblings, but at the same time I felt that I was wrong for telling on my stepfather. I missed my mother so, although I didn’t feel she protected me she should have.

I don’t remember how long we remained in the shelter, but it was a place of peace. We were able to go to the same school we attended, were fed properly, and counseling was provided. There was a basketball court outside and plenty of games to play. We even went on outings outside of the house, but soon all of that came to an end.

We were placed back in the home, with an angrier man that before we left. He was upset with me because he lost rank in the Air Force. For a short while, things were all right, but surely they went right back to normal. One morning I rose and put a griddle on the stove, to make pancakes. I’d turn the burner on to heat it up. Before I could put butter in it he began yelling at me about something I had done. He removed the griddle from the burner and hit me on my bottom with it burning my skin. I only had a t-shirt and panties on, so the heat pierced my skin. The attacks on my brother accelerated, and he began locking him up more and more. As the violence increased, my responsibilities increased, and my childhood decreased. I became more concerned about what would happen to my brother and sister. I was too afraid to tell on him again, and I didn’t know what other avenue to take. I wished I could make him disappear, and my mom seemed no help. Concerned neighbors began to call police, and we were returned to the shelter.

Peace once again had been restored to us, and I really didn’t know how to handle it. I was able to play and not have to worry about all the extra duties I’d had at home. What a relief it was to be a kid again. My father was forced to take custody, or we would be placed in foster care. After a year of not the most pleasant of circumstances, but better than where we were, dad returned us to my mom.

Mom had a new child, and I was now 10 going on 11. This brought forth a new set of responsibilities (a new child to watch). He was now out of the military (thanks to us he said), and they had moved to a new location. Things started off okay, but just as in the past, violence crept right back out. He beat my sister for bed wetting until her legs were blue and green. She had to wear long pants to cover the scars. I was older now, and it was easier to perform the duties from before. One morning, while making breakfast for my siblings, my brother (his son), pulled a hot cup of water off the counter onto his arm. I was pulling bacon out of oven and didn’t see him in the kitchen. I felt so bad, but not as bad as I would soon feel when he returned home. I was beaten for 30 to 45 minutes. He didn’t stop until he could lift his arm no more.

One night weeks later, after seeing the results of a beating my sister received and feeling there was nothing I could do. I decided to end my life. I was 12 years old and I no longer wanted to be living on this earth. I didn’t know what to do anymore. We’d been removed from the home and returned, I tried to kill him in his sleep and couldn’t do it, and my mother and father were no help at all. There was no way out but death for me. When they (my mom and step dad) found out about the pills I’d taken, they couldn’t understand why. How could they not know? He threatened to beat me if I didn’t tell him the reason. How could I tell him that he was the reason? How could I tell him that I didn’t have what I took to kill him, so I decided to kill myself? The weight on my shoulders had been too much. I couldn’t help anyone.

At the hospital, I begged the staff not to send me home. I begged the social worker not to send me home, but they all gave the same response. “You have to go home. What can we do? You can’t stay here forever.� Lastly I begged my mom, and she said that she couldn’t take care of us by herself, so we had to go home. I sucked it all up, and went home. After this the physical violence towards my brother and I decreased, but my sister was still taken bad beatings. I couldn’t stand watching my sister beaten and my hatred began to level off. I couldn’t hate him any more than I did at that time. Many days I thought about new ways to kill this man, but God wouldn’t let me do it. God knew there would be something for me to do in the future using this experience to provide the passion to keep moving to help others. He also knew it was time for the pain to stop.

Mom left him after he became extremely violent with her. We left while he was at work, and we had to live in a domestic violence shelter until mom got on her feet. I was glad to be free, but I never knew how much that experience would affect the rest on my life and my choices. It took many years to pull it all together, and after 16 years it still hurts. I now know how to cope with it.

Looking Beneath

Did you see the drop of rain before it really took form?
Have you ever heard thunder in the middle of a storm?

Did you see the mist arising, from the tattered streets?
Could you read the roads signs from the things you seek?

When it started raining, were you really surprised?
For where there’s one comes two and many others, out from where they hide.

I saw the thunder and lightening and released my mist.
But no one was looking, so on a star I wished.

Then the thunder roared too loud, and the lightening hurt my eyes.
I showed the world my storm, and came out of my disguise.

I thought that it would stop the thunder and erase the lightening.
But it caused friction between the two, and they kept on fighting.

I thought if I could stop the two, I could endure the rain.
I’d been used to weather like this, and I thought it kept me sane.

One day I had a good idea, and thought to put it in play.
I’d take a sword, cut out the two, for the rest of my days.

See fires had began to spark from lightening, igniting the young trees.
I needed to start some rain of my own, to bring it to its knees.

I could take the rain, lightening, and thunder when all by myself.
But the more it spread beyond me, deep in my heart if felt.

Like taking the sword - cutting- starting high in the sky.
Something telling me not to stop, until gone, dead where it lies.

A bird flew by and told me, better weather comes tomorrow.
It’s hard to see beyond the rain that brought me to my sorrow.

I pulled down the sword, put it back in the sheath.
Ready to fight a new battle with others that fall beneath.

Beneath the eyes of others, just the same as I.
To keep them cutting out those things found within the sky.