I told a story about having a baby thrown across the room. It has been over 40 years, and I did catch my brother, but it still bothers me. What would have happened if I did not catch him? What if my dad’s throw was just a little short? I would have had baby brains on my bedroom floor. It still gives me shivers down my spine to think about how a grown man and a father no less can throw a newborn baby.

     My beatings sucked, but when I think of the horror of my childhood, other stories come to mind. There is some discrepancy in this story, and I believe I am right, but I will give you both versions. We were all hungry, not just me. Dad was home and watching TV in the third floor living room. To my memory, dad had a full bucket of KFC and was eating. It was normal for him to bring food home and eat it in front of us, so that was no surprise. My brother decided he was going to ask for a piece. My brother recalls asking for a quarter for lunch money (he was wrong because a quarter was for reduced lunches, and we qualified for free); anyway, the playing field was food. We were in the hall discussing in childlike manner if asking for food was brave or stupid. My brother stepped into the living room and asked. Apparently, my father did not care for his question. He raised to his feet and backhanded my brother hard enough to throw him through the air. His head slammed into the brick chimney in the hall. I heard the crack and then the thump of my brother’s limp body hitting the floor. All I could do was cry. I laid over my brother shaking him, trying to wake him up, but he was out cold. It was hours before he revived.

     I visited my father in the hospital as an adult and asked him why? He was drugged and a captive audience. He said he would get mad at mom and hurting us, hurt her. I asked again that if his anger was at her, why not hit her? He in a very matter-of-fact response said that he knew if he hit her, he would keep hitting her until she was dead. He backed it up with when he beat us, we would start bleeding or go unconscious. He would then feel guilty and stop. I have other stories of waking up later… unconscious was better than bleeding.

     I can take a hit, and others have also admitted that when faced with an angry grown up that was prone to violence, bringing the fury on themselves is better than watching abuse to someone else. As a child, just watching can be as damaging as having the abuse done to you. Depending on how the memory gets stored, it can echo over and over, but the memory of being a helpless child gets lost. It is even more traumatic if the violence is toward the one that usually protects you, like a mother or older sibling. This echo chamber is what comes up in flashbacks and nightmares, trying to make it stop doesn’t always work. Recurring nightmares of watching my little siblings dangling by their wrist. There was still pain in mine, so I knew how it felt. Every whip of the belt spinning and swaying them, as I could feel the welts on my arms, legs, back, and ass. All I could do was sit there – holding my breath – trying to not scream – not cry – Be quiet…be still… be good, or things will get worse for everyone.

     I moved out at 13, and left the others behind. It has always been a regret that I didn’t do more to free them. But when I look back, aside from being homeless myself, I did talk to the cops. They did see me bruised up. They were aware that the home was full of violence. I was child – they were not.