The Ramifications of Childhood on Parenthood, Part II

As I stated previously, we had a full house when I was growing up. Seven people occupied my mother's one bedroom apartment. I had never known what it was like to have my own room, but now I had no room. I slept on the floor by the entrance to the apartment with my cousin, Annette. With that many people in the house, it was difficult to keep up with the goings on of one timid little toddler. So, I was abused physically, mentally, and sexually.

Out of necessity my mother had taken a job at McDonald's as a manager. I spent my days with Cedric and his close friend and cousin, Diddy Boo (you can't make this stuff up). The last thing they wanted to do was put up with me, no matter the debt that was owed to my mother for providing them shelter. They found a handy little solution to the problem. They would shove me in the living room closet for the better part of the day, letting me out only long enough to strangle me with my mother's pink gift-wrapping ribbons. Of course, I was lead to believe that if I mentioned any of this mistreatment to my mother, my punishment would be much more severe next time.

I probably would have told my mother anyway, but I knew she had a volatile disposition. I'd seen her punch a woman in the mouth and knock teeth out. I'd also seen her thrash men who had overstayed their welcome, and throw them down the stairs. Each altercation left the fear of God in me. I was convinced that my mother would be killed in one of the scuffles. So, I kept my mouth shut. Besides, she had no one else to leave me with while she was at work.


My father was not in any position to do anything to change my situation. He had been badly damaged by his service in the Vietnam war. He turned to heroine for release from the PTSD. Besides that, I had no idea that he was my father. I'd been told that he was my uncle. It wasn't until I turned 6 that he would insist that I stop calling him Uncle Junior and start calling him daddy.

In any case, there was nowhere to go. Once Isamae, Cedric, and crew moved out of our apartment, I suffered at the hands of my other sitters. When the mood struck her, Regina would force me to stand in the corner on one foot with my arms extended like the wings of a plane. If I lost my balance (which inevitably happened since I was made to stand there for hours at a time), she would beat me with her belt. When my grandparents finally agreed to look after me, I would be sent to the number hole at a local bar and drug hub to play numbers for my grandmother and her daughters. One of my aunts went as far as to send me on runs to purchase her drugs.

This is not to say that things were dramatically different with my mother. One thing I found refreshing about being in my mother's care was the fact that she did not much believe in corporal punishment. Still, she had her peculiar ways. Occasionally, she would march into the bedroom where I sat reading or watching television, and insist that I was a "bad girl." She'd tell me to get undressed to prepare for my spanking. I'd sit in the room for a half hour or so before she would remember her order. She'd come back to the bedroom to find me, sitting naked and petrified, laugh heartily, and leave me in the apartment with her drunken guests. On other occasions she would block her guests( ill from too much alcohol consumption) from entering the bathroom. Covered in vomit, she would awaken me from my sleep and insist that I hug her.

As long as there is breath in my body, my son will never know that life.