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THE ROSE BEYOND THE WALL
A rose once grew where all could see,
Sheltered beside a garden wall,
And, as the days passed swiftly by,
It spread its branches, straight and tall....
One day, a beam of light shone through
A crevice that had opened wide -
The rose bent gently towards its warmth
Then passed beyond to the other side...
Now, you who deeply feel its loss,
Be comforted - the rose blooms there -
Its beauty even greater now,
Nurtured by God's own loving care.
Author unknown
Did I ever tell you about the time I got beat with three switches because I “stole” money from my father? Yes, my father was a money mongrel and knew where every dime was….even if it fell in the couch out of his pocket, he heard it. I grew up in the time you didn’t speak unless spoken to and that children suffered in silence. If you didn’t regularly beat your kids, you were no kind of parent. In our house, it was the basement where the beatings mainly occurred. They were the whippings my dad gave us when he came home from a stressful day at work and my mom that had been home all day threatened us with Dad rather than handle the situation herself. Believe me, by the time my dad got home from work, the last thing he wanted to hear was how bad his kids were. I had 5 sisters (Poor man) anywhere from 2-4 years apart. Years of birth went like this 1961, 1966, 1968, 1970, 1975. I am the 4th one down and was the shy/reserved type. I wore my emotions on my sleeve…..you always know what I’m thinking still to this day. Poker face I have none. Although, with age, it has gotten better.
All of us kids were terrified to ask for money for anything. It always caused a big conflict in the household. I was in 6th grade and really wanted to go an assembly they were having at school, but too terrified to ask for it. I saw money lying on fathers chest of drawers and took 3….I honestly didn’t think he would miss 3 measly dollars out of that wad. I went to school, went to the assembly and had a great time. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t think of the possible consequences of my actions. When I got home that evening, it was waiting for me. My dad lined all us girls in the kitchen and said, “I’m only going to ask this once, who stole money from me?” Not a peep was heard…just a lot of confused faces and shaking of heads. He then said, “Okay, everyone to the basement.”
The basement wasn’t finished and had concrete-like pillars. We had to strip down to our under ware and hold onto the pole. When he asked for my baby sister to go first, I couldn’t bear it. I piped up, “I did it, I took the money.” He glared at me and then dismissed the other girls from the room. He then said, “You will go outside and pick 3 switches….and they better be good ones too, not easy to break and meet me in your room. “ I did as I was told and trudged up the stairs in complete fear of what was going to happen. He made me remove my pants and told me to bend over. I did.
That first swack across my back was excrutiatingly painful and I screamed out in pain. I jumped up and pulled away from him, reaching with my hands behind me to find the wall for balance. It didn’t phase him…he continued to hit me with the switch and since I was no longer turned around, it didn’t matter where the weapon landed. Hit after hit I could hear the switch tearing into my skin, slice after slice and all I could do was back up further away into my closet covering my face hoping that he wouldn’t hit my face. He kept screaming at me the more I resisted, and tried to hide or run away, the worse it would get. I tried to be strong and just take it…but the burning sensation of my flest being ripped open was too much. I tried to muffle my screams with my hands, a shirt and anything I could find on the closet floor. I said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again to no avail. I think my words fell on deaf ears. He was on a rampage that wouldn’t stop until each switch broke in half.
When he was done, he was out of breath. I stared at me a long time and then finally said, “I hope this has taught you never to steal from anyone again.” And with that, he walked out of the room. I didn’t leave my room the rest of the night. No, I didn’t want anything to eat, I could barely move due to the pain. I ran a warm bath and as I stuck each leg in, the pain hit me again. This is when I realized that he didn’t focus on my lower extremeties as usual…he beat me where he could reach…….back, head, chest, stomach, legs, but, face…….there wasn’t an inch of me that didn’t have the skin welted or torn open and bleeding.
Later that night, in my pajamas I went to tell my mother good night. She literally gasped when she saw me. I said, “Didn’t you hear it?” She said, “Yes, but I didn’t know it was this bad.” I asked her, “What am I going to do? I have to dress out for PE tomorrow, everyone will see.” She said, “Then everyone needs to see and if they ask you any questions, tell them.” I didn’t grasp the meaning of her comment then. I didn’t realize the severity of our family dynamics then.
As planned, I went to school the next day and no one said anything about the welts on my face. I then changed out in PE to show all of my war wounds….people in the locker room just stared and a few brave people asked, “God, what happened to you?” I told them the truth like my mother told me too. My friends shook their heads in disgust. When I went out to the gymnasium in my brightly lacerated state, I knew the coaches saw me, noticed the extravagant wounds and my uncomfortable demeanor. But not one coach, teacher, or adult ever asked me what happened. No one said a thing. I got stared at when they thought I wasn’t looking and whispered about behind my back, but not one adult approached me and asked me any questions.
I sighed and went home that day wondering if anyone cared. I told my mother what happened and she was shocked as well. She stated, “Well, I certainly expected DSS to show up at any time today.”
The fact is, my mother was so controlled and terrified of her own husband, the father of her children that she felt powerless. She was hoping someone else would take the reign and get the steps moving. But no one did.
My mother left my father a short time after that. It was hell too. All of us kids were separated and moved into family members homes. My childhood was officially gone. I had to learn to play the role of mother to my baby sister but to my two cousins we lived with as well. At 12, I was extremely mature.
To this day I get an uneasy feeling in basements, can’t stand the cracking of a belt and sometimes get full blown panic feelings when I have to grip a broom to sweep the floor.
The purpose of me sharing this story with you…..if you see or think you see child abuse…report it. Do not do NOTHING. Stand up for the kids that can’t stand up for themselves…Know the signs of child abuse and do whatever it takes to help/save them.
