Hands of Domestic Violence

A personal story of sorts.

Domestic violence (abuse)

Female or male
Simple date
Girlfriend, boyfriend
Partner or spouse
Or even an ex
All are victims

White, black
Brown, yellow
Rich or poor
Catholic or Protestant
East or West
In cultures one and all
All are victims

Yelled and screamed at
Hit or punched
Choked or strangled
Forced into humiliating acts
Raped and
Even murdered

Teased, taunted, belittled
Emotionally beaten down
Threatened and intimidated
Fear instilled

Deprived of freedom
Deprived of needs
Deprived of money
Deprived of friends
The list goes on and on

The statistics on domestic violence are vague and very often under-reported. While the most often reported cases are those of violence by male against female, violence by women against men is only slightly less. Men are much less likely to report being abused than women. In the United States it is estimated that every year approximately 3 million women are assaulted by their partner. One in four women in the U.S. will be assaulted by their partner over their lifetimes.


Mr. Gookin, Mr. Gookin!

Early in the summer I was five my grandfather had come down from Knoxville to help do some remodeling on the house that my Mom and Dad bought a year before. One of the projects was a white picket fence around the backyard to confine a little boy whose desire to explore was stronger than the resulting punishment from not paying heed to the warnings of �stay in the yard.� There was a neighborhood to explore, other kids to meet, a lake and creek, and the vast golf course to roam. Even today I still have to laugh because at five there was no obstacle I could not climb or defeat in escaping the confines of that yard. The last project before Papaw left was to build two big concrete posts on either side of the drive way entrance. Painted white with a big flat square surface at the top where Mom intended to put big pots full of flowers, these became sort of a refuge where I would climb up and sit when I became angry or upset.

Just the other day when talking with my mother on the phone she spoke of the frustrations and the worry when she discovered I was not in the yard. At 89, her memory is still quite clear. She asked if I remembered one particular day when as usual I had made an �escape� and she had searched all the usual places. Frantic when I was not to be found she called my dad and the police.

I remember wandering across the golf course for what seemed like hours and being hot and thirsty. At last I reached the other side and as I walked along I searched for a place to get a drink. On the other side of the street I saw a little girl playing in her front yard so I crossed over and asked her for a drink. At that moment her mother came out and hearing my request took us both inside for that drink. Sitting there on tall stools in that big airy kitchen she began asking my name and where I lived.

I didn�t know the name of my street but I did know exactly which direction and how to get back home. I explained as best I could and with that she loaded us up in the car and began the circular route around the golf course. As we neared where I lived I began showing her which way to go until we reached my house.

There in the drive was a police car and Mom standing there beside it. When she saw me get out of that car she ran and grabbed me up, hugging so hard I could barely breathe. As the woman and girl stood watching my mother finally began to thank them profusely. Introductions were made and a lifetime friendship was forged between a little girl and little boy. Mrs. Taylor became like a second mom and Angel became Angel.

It was long after my grandfather had gone home that things took a dramatic change. Mom and Dad began yelling and arguing a lot which scared me to no end. There was one day that stands out so very clear.

It was sunny and hot. Mom had finally succeeded in getting me to come inside to eat lunch at the counter on the enclosed back porch just off the kitchen. My Dad had come home for lunch and then had gone upstairs for a nap. Later Mom had yelled to wake him up so he could get back to work but he had decided not to go back.

As I sat there eating the argument began. Within moments it had escalated to screaming and shouting.
Mom had started up the stairs and he came rushing down. From where I sat I could see it all. Nose to nose they argued so loudly then Dad shoved Mom against the wall. Never one to be intimidated, she swung, hitting him �upside� the head. Then the battle was on. Screaming and punching, kicking and choking.

I yelled at them in my little voice, I cried, nothing would stop them. As my Dad choked her, Mom grabbed and empty Coke bottle and broke it over his head. At that point I ran from the house screaming and crying to the only help I could think of. I remember as I ran out between those posts at the end of the drive and across the next yard, I was screaming for our neighbor, Mr. Gookin.

He came running out and as I tried to tell him that Mom and Dad were fighting he shook his head and told me �There�s nothing I can do.� And then he went back inside leaving me standing there alone and crying. No where to turn I sought my only refuge, the top of one of those posts.

I don�t remember how long I sat there and cried but finally Mom came out and tried to convince me that everything was going to be alright, but no matter what she said I knew nothing would ever be the same, nothing would be OK.

Over the next few months the arguments and fights continued until finally Dad was forced to leave. Even after they divorced one of them would do something or say something stupid and the arguing and fighting would begin all over again. Finally Mom decided to move away.

Abuse or domestic violence? Yes, it was. Both gave and both took.

As I grew older I learned that both were at fault and the reasons for their actions. Still in the back of my mind I hold each of them to blame for what they did to me. But then there was a lesson I learned from those painful years. It was a very simple one�.argue with a woman only in moderation, never yell but most of all NEVER, under any circumstances hit. To that end I can honestly say that I have held true to what I learned. Unfortunately though when I see that sort of thing happening it becomes very difficult to hold my anger in check.

Reviews

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Woah ... yes, what is inside that little boy ... that sweet little boy. I do not remember my parents really ever getting into it ... at all. But my ex and I did, equally. Always initiated by large amounts of alcohol ... consumed by him. I was the first of what I think ended up being 6 wives.....he died at 46 years of age.

[Russell Rose]

So moving; so poignant. I'm sure lots of writer and readers can relate.
Good writing.
J Russell Rose

[Ron B]

Very good, very insightful and it taps into my past big time. Thanks.

[An Ordinary Woman]

I'm most happy to see this here because I am just know trying to deal with my own abuse. I know I have a long road ahead but thats ok, I know about determination. Thank you for posting this.

[Wildfleour]

Bob - This piece resonated deeply with me, for personal reasons. I will think about it and try to come up with a better comment than this.

Just a quick note: last sentence: happened - did you mean happening?