holiday wishes
I was very young the first time I saw my father beat and rape my mother.
One Christmas my brother and I made Christmas cards for my mother. On the outside of the card I’d written in crayon:
“Quick! Open up this card and see a living DOLL !”
Then I had glued a mirror inside of the card. Little kid cute, right? The living doll was her when she opened the card, she saw herself.
Christmas Eve my Father beat and raped my Mother just like he did other nights. I heard the fists hitting flesh and bone, the crying, and the screaming… as I lay awake in my bed when most kids are waiting for Santa Claus.
Christmas morning my mother was gone. I checked every room. No Mom. Running around the house in my stupid kid pajamas with feet in them. No mom on Christmas morning, and I was heartbroken.
“Open the Presents,” my dad said to my brother and I.
There was a clawing sound at the door which opened outside. My brother and I were trying to open presents. I got up and ran to the door. My mom was standing there in a torn bathrobe.
Blood, dirt, and leaves were mixed into her hair, and smeared on her face. It was raining. She was all wet. She was crying, and mucus was dripping from her nose.
My Mother had run for her life into the night, and had hidden outside under a tree in a field to stay alive on Christmas Eve.
I hugged her.
I was four years old.
My Mother came in, and not a word was said. My Father sat silently, puffing on a cigar. My mother sat on the floor with my brother and I, and she looked at the gifts under the tree.
She picked up the envelope with my card in it. She opened the card, and saw the living doll reflected inside on the mirror. She cried tears through swollen lips, & black and blue eyes.
My Christmases have gotten worse every year since then.
If Christmas day passes as just another ordinary day, that will be enough for me. I have never enjoyed celebrating Christmas.
