Everything Your Eyes See Your Mouth Say You Want It

Just Say You’re Sorry In many ways, I survived the infliction of great mental and physical pain. My early years of childhood were reminiscence of a classic modern-day child abuse case that never received intervention by the appropriate authorities. My mother, single parent of three at the time, was a very proud woman who seldom accepted help from anyone. She really struggled to provide a secure environment for her family as the pressures of life in the big city took its toll. Growing up, we were perhaps the best-behaved kids in the neighborhood, and for sure in our family. This was a direct result of the mental and physical hazing that we, speaking of my brother and I endured from day to day. We were subjected to abuse at the stage of creativity. We experience whippings with belt buckles, extension cords, broomsticks, or anything my mom could get her hands on. We experienced punishments that included starvation to soldiery confinement. I recall times when we were made to take a bath get out of the tub without drying off and face the wrath of the leather belt. My brother and I would retreat to our room and check each other's back, legs and face for the scars that were left behind. We would literally count the number of scars on our respective body and resolve who received the brunt of the discipline session. There were countless times when we went to bed hungry, not because we did not have food, it was simply because this was a part of our unsolicited punishment. We would sneak in the middle of the night to the kitchen to dig our fingers into the peanut butter jar to address our hunger pains. We were not wise enough to smoothen the top layer of the jar. As a result, mom would discover this and impose more physical correction. This was an ever-revolving cycle that became the norm for our childhood. The worst memory of abuse that I can recall was when my mother placed her 22-caliber pistol on the table and directed us to take our clothes off and lay across a chair. She assured us that if we attempted to run she would shoot us. That was a beating of a lifetime, and perhaps the worst memory of the “Green Monster” a green broom stick, that was configured into a Billy club that I can remember. I wish that I could say that these memories were the exceptions, but they were more the norm. There were times when we contemplated calling the authorities, however, we were so afraid of the repercussions that we could never move beyond the thought. We really thought that our mom was above the law. She was the type of woman that delivered on her promise and had a temper that was so vicious, that family members never wanted to cross her. You could see the pain and sorrow in their eyes regarding their heart felt pity for us, however, there was very little that they could do to fully protect us. No one at school had a clue of what we were enduring in our home life on a daily basis. They could not see beyond the mask of deception that we wore everyday. We always showed up with a smile on our face. We performed well academically; we were well mannered, and well dressed. We exhibited all the signs of a functional family and caring household. I especially enjoyed the school months. This was a time when I felt safe, supported, and relaxed. I never wanted to leave school. I could stay in that environment forever. Arts and crafts were my favorite times. This part of the day allowed me to dream. Dear old Wilber Cross Middle School, you were a place of comfort and refuge and never knew. Thank you! In considering my options, I have realized that I would have to totally wipeout a segment of my life to simply undo the pain, and the damage that has permanently affected my life. Those who know me might ask what pain, what damage? Simply because I have learned through the years to hide the pain with the façade of great confidence, focus, and perceived happiness. This has been for the sake of others and personal will to disguise the emotional impact that I deal with in everyday life. Holidays as of late have been a real struggle. I have always envied those who have close families. Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas gatherings, milestone celebrations, In many ways I have gone it alone. There were birthdays, performances, and graduations etc. that went unobserved by my biological mother and to be fair, my father as well. I graduated from high school in 1980. After much debate and deliberation, I decided to attend Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts. This was a decision against the will of my school counselor and several of my teachers. It was recommended that I needed to go to the military “At least you’ll have a place to sleep and eat” These words were both an insult and a motivation and served as my purpose in pursuing post secondary experiences through out my career. During my transition from South Carolina to Boston, Massachusetts, I made the decision to visit with my biological mother in Bridgeport, Connecticut. At this point, it had been approximately 5 years since I had seen her, and I cannot recall communicating with her more than once during this time. In many ways this was the beginning of the attempt to bring about healing or resolve to our broken relationship. I felt comfortable with this visit as I knew I only had a few days to spend with her due to the fact that I had to report to Berklee within a few days of my arrival. This encounter was very subdued and a little uncomfortable. I surmise this was due to the laps in time since we had seen or communicated with each other, and perhaps her inner reflection of guilt from past years of abuse and neglect of motherhood. Nevertheless, this visit opened the door for several weekend visits from college. Still there was no attempt to address the ill feelings from the past. However, we managed to build a relationship of mutual respect.