It would be fair to say that some of my earliest memories of childhood were of my mother being beaten by my father. They weren't the only ones, but they were the strongest and have had the most lasting effect on me emotionally.
I recall many memories from back then. I had many normal experiences and it was like I led a normal life, but had this other part of my life that I kept hidden from others, like a second life where I stood witness to the brutalities of my father. My mother has said he used to beat me, but I don't have memories of this. They are all of my mother. I remember her being pulled around part of the kitchen by her hair. I remember him yelling and throwing a ketchup bottle at her and it smashing against the refridgerator and all the red spraying against it's side. I remember him beating her with his belt, or asking her to get a coat hanger for him. When she wouldn't he demanded that I get one for him. I remember panicked and crying because I would have to get it but I knew in getting it he was going to use it to beat my mother; which he did. I remember her screaming and crying for me not to get it. I remember the fear. I remember watching a movie in my mothers lap and at the end when a robot had to be left behind, we both cried.
Not all memories were bad. There was this other life we led too; outside the home. We went skating on the lake at night with a hundred or two other families by lamp light. I remember my bell bottoms and karate lessons on hot summer days and instructors that wouldn't let us swat at the mosquitos. I remember white tennis outfits my parents wore when playing. I remember them practicing flute together in a second-floor room and a silver bullet restaurant I thought was cool and we ate at once or twice, but passed almost every day. I remember loving the big Azar's sign and the next door neighbor, who gave us fresh pears from his tree. I remember playing with a few friends and us getting in trouble one day because we had been playing on a garage roof. I was probably five at that time, and possibly six. Interesting that we felt the freedom to go and roam around and play.
I remember our dog chasing a squirrel across the street and getting hit by a car, and then trying to get back and getting hit by another. I think he lived, actually. I remember getting angry at my younger brother and mistakenly making him hit his head on the iron heater and him bleeding and me getting in trouble for it. I think he had to get stitches for it, but I'm not sure. I do remember us living in an apartment and walking and him just learning to walk and falling off a concrete wall bordering the driveway beside the apartments and bleeding from his head. This was before we moved to Waterbury and the other place (Blueberry?). I had to be three at time, I think, but I'm not sure.
I know we moved there to a place that seemed to have trees all around us. We had a volkswagen bus with a sunflower painted on the drivers door. I can't remember the color of it, but I want to say blue. I remember sitting in my mothers lap and my father braking suddenly and me flying out of my mothers arms and hitting the windshield. It cracked. She was panicking, afraid I was hurt, but I remember telling her I was fine.
I remember finding a robins blue egg in the yard one day and thinking it was a lost Easter egg. My father bought me a Tyco (sp?) race car set but hiding it in a room where I never really got to play with it. I remember my mother arguing with him, asking why he bought it for me if he wasn't going to let me play with it. I think she suggested he was playing with it, but I'm not sure. Being perhaps three at the time, I'm sure he was worried about me wrecking it. I watched them meditating a lot then; there was a buddha and incense and I remember tripping on the door sill to the meditation room and tripping so that I hit my mouth on the chair and bleeding. I think I lost a tooth, but I can't be certain. I remember going over to this girls house. She was perhaps a year or two older than me but took care of her father, who couldn't see. She knew sign language and I thought it was terribly amazing that she could wave her arms around and speak to her father without saying a word and he'd understand everything. He always had dried apricots for us to eat. She taught me how to tie my shoes. I was terribly fond of her in a way I couldn't describe or understand at the time. We left that house and moved back to Danbury, where the horrors began. I never did see her again, but my earliest memories of affection and awe for someone not in my family are of her and memories of her have never left me.
When I was in the first grade, I remember being in my class and my mother coming in and asking to see me. The teacher said that she'd have to wait. She came in and said that I was her child and she could do what she wanted. The two of them grabbed an arm and had a tug-of-war of sorts for several seconds before my mother grabbed me and we rushed out to a waiting cab. I can't remember how we got from Danbury to Fort Wayne, but I suppose it was either a plane or train. I was with my mother and my younger brother, who would have been almost four at the time.
I recall many memories from back then. I had many normal experiences and it was like I led a normal life, but had this other part of my life that I kept hidden from others, like a second life where I stood witness to the brutalities of my father. My mother has said he used to beat me, but I don't have memories of this. They are all of my mother. I remember her being pulled around part of the kitchen by her hair. I remember him yelling and throwing a ketchup bottle at her and it smashing against the refridgerator and all the red spraying against it's side. I remember him beating her with his belt, or asking her to get a coat hanger for him. When she wouldn't he demanded that I get one for him. I remember panicked and crying because I would have to get it but I knew in getting it he was going to use it to beat my mother; which he did. I remember her screaming and crying for me not to get it. I remember the fear. I remember watching a movie in my mothers lap and at the end when a robot had to be left behind, we both cried.
Not all memories were bad. There was this other life we led too; outside the home. We went skating on the lake at night with a hundred or two other families by lamp light. I remember my bell bottoms and karate lessons on hot summer days and instructors that wouldn't let us swat at the mosquitos. I remember white tennis outfits my parents wore when playing. I remember them practicing flute together in a second-floor room and a silver bullet restaurant I thought was cool and we ate at once or twice, but passed almost every day. I remember loving the big Azar's sign and the next door neighbor, who gave us fresh pears from his tree. I remember playing with a few friends and us getting in trouble one day because we had been playing on a garage roof. I was probably five at that time, and possibly six. Interesting that we felt the freedom to go and roam around and play.
I remember our dog chasing a squirrel across the street and getting hit by a car, and then trying to get back and getting hit by another. I think he lived, actually. I remember getting angry at my younger brother and mistakenly making him hit his head on the iron heater and him bleeding and me getting in trouble for it. I think he had to get stitches for it, but I'm not sure. I do remember us living in an apartment and walking and him just learning to walk and falling off a concrete wall bordering the driveway beside the apartments and bleeding from his head. This was before we moved to Waterbury and the other place (Blueberry?). I had to be three at time, I think, but I'm not sure.
I know we moved there to a place that seemed to have trees all around us. We had a volkswagen bus with a sunflower painted on the drivers door. I can't remember the color of it, but I want to say blue. I remember sitting in my mothers lap and my father braking suddenly and me flying out of my mothers arms and hitting the windshield. It cracked. She was panicking, afraid I was hurt, but I remember telling her I was fine.
I remember finding a robins blue egg in the yard one day and thinking it was a lost Easter egg. My father bought me a Tyco (sp?) race car set but hiding it in a room where I never really got to play with it. I remember my mother arguing with him, asking why he bought it for me if he wasn't going to let me play with it. I think she suggested he was playing with it, but I'm not sure. Being perhaps three at the time, I'm sure he was worried about me wrecking it. I watched them meditating a lot then; there was a buddha and incense and I remember tripping on the door sill to the meditation room and tripping so that I hit my mouth on the chair and bleeding. I think I lost a tooth, but I can't be certain. I remember going over to this girls house. She was perhaps a year or two older than me but took care of her father, who couldn't see. She knew sign language and I thought it was terribly amazing that she could wave her arms around and speak to her father without saying a word and he'd understand everything. He always had dried apricots for us to eat. She taught me how to tie my shoes. I was terribly fond of her in a way I couldn't describe or understand at the time. We left that house and moved back to Danbury, where the horrors began. I never did see her again, but my earliest memories of affection and awe for someone not in my family are of her and memories of her have never left me.
When I was in the first grade, I remember being in my class and my mother coming in and asking to see me. The teacher said that she'd have to wait. She came in and said that I was her child and she could do what she wanted. The two of them grabbed an arm and had a tug-of-war of sorts for several seconds before my mother grabbed me and we rushed out to a waiting cab. I can't remember how we got from Danbury to Fort Wayne, but I suppose it was either a plane or train. I was with my mother and my younger brother, who would have been almost four at the time.
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