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 made, I’d written in crayon:
“Quick! Open up this card and see a living DOLL !”
I had put a mirror inside of the card. Little kid cute, right?
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 Clause.
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 faint clawing sound at the door to outside in the room where my brother and I were trying to open presents. I ran, and threw open 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 soaking wet.
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 Mom opened up my card, and saw the living doll reflected
inside the card in the mirror, and she cried tears through black and blue eyes.
My Christmases got worse every year thereafter.
If Christmas day passes as just another ordinary day,
that will be enough for me.
I have never enjoyed celebrating Christmas.
