WonderWriter
Confident
Summer 1977
My three-year-old self trembled like an earthquake. I felt as if my feet were encased in cement. I knew I was in trouble for disobeying, and I hated Daddy’s voice when he was mad. I kept trodding toward the house repeating my apology over and over in my head.
“This is dumb. Why am I scared? Daddy won’t hurt me. He loves me.” I thought.
As I approached the driveway, he stood at the gate. His eyes revealed to me a stranger, and my stomach burned.
“Didn’t your mother tell you, “not to get wet? Say?” He shouted.
I stood, frozen, like a garden gnome. I tried to speak, but it was as if something stole the air from my lungs.
“You better answer me or you’re gonna get more than what’s already comin’ to ya.” He yelled.
My tiny bones rattled, as I realized I was in danger.
“I didn’t mean it, Daddy. I just wanted to get my feet wet... I fell.” I screamed out.
“You’re a liar!” He roared.
Then he yanked me up off my feet and carried me to the backyard. There was a metal folding chair with its back legs dug in the dirt. With one arm, he jerked the chair upwards and replaced it as he squeezed my waist with the other. He set me down, and slid off his belt.
“You better not move. You so much as blink, you’re gonna get it worst.” He growled.
I was wide-eyed and paralyzed. My insides felt like they were on fire, and I thought my heart would leap from my mouth. He grabbed both of my arms and flung me over his lap.
His arm flailed the leather strap over every inch of my moist skin. I squirmed, screamed and protested; he just kept hitting me harder.
“You better be still. It’s only gonna make it worse!” He Yelled.
I couldn’t tell if the beating lasted 20 minutes or half an hour, but for me, it was an eternity. Time seemed to slow. It was like being in a nightmare and I couldn’t wake up.
When he finally stopped, I couldn’t move. He pushed me off his lap onto the ground and I ran inside to my room and curled up beneath my blanket sobbing, slobbering and hyperventilating. I heard his footsteps coming toward me, and I froze; yet, my body continued jerking and shaking from the torture I’d just endured.
“You gonna lie to me again? Say?” He yelled.
Still crying, I barely whispered, “No.”
“I cant hear you!” He screamed, and yanked the blanket off me.
“You better answer me when I’m talking to you! You gonna lie to me again? Say?” He shouted.
I shook my head. He threw the blanket at me and said, “You can stay in here ‘til your mother gets home. I’m sick of looking at you.” Then, he slammed the door.
Despite my pain, I fell asleep.
My three-year-old self trembled like an earthquake. I felt as if my feet were encased in cement. I knew I was in trouble for disobeying, and I hated Daddy’s voice when he was mad. I kept trodding toward the house repeating my apology over and over in my head.
“This is dumb. Why am I scared? Daddy won’t hurt me. He loves me.” I thought.
As I approached the driveway, he stood at the gate. His eyes revealed to me a stranger, and my stomach burned.
“Didn’t your mother tell you, “not to get wet? Say?” He shouted.
I stood, frozen, like a garden gnome. I tried to speak, but it was as if something stole the air from my lungs.
“You better answer me or you’re gonna get more than what’s already comin’ to ya.” He yelled.
My tiny bones rattled, as I realized I was in danger.
“I didn’t mean it, Daddy. I just wanted to get my feet wet... I fell.” I screamed out.
“You’re a liar!” He roared.
Then he yanked me up off my feet and carried me to the backyard. There was a metal folding chair with its back legs dug in the dirt. With one arm, he jerked the chair upwards and replaced it as he squeezed my waist with the other. He set me down, and slid off his belt.
“You better not move. You so much as blink, you’re gonna get it worst.” He growled.
I was wide-eyed and paralyzed. My insides felt like they were on fire, and I thought my heart would leap from my mouth. He grabbed both of my arms and flung me over his lap.
His arm flailed the leather strap over every inch of my moist skin. I squirmed, screamed and protested; he just kept hitting me harder.
“You better be still. It’s only gonna make it worse!” He Yelled.
I couldn’t tell if the beating lasted 20 minutes or half an hour, but for me, it was an eternity. Time seemed to slow. It was like being in a nightmare and I couldn’t wake up.
When he finally stopped, I couldn’t move. He pushed me off his lap onto the ground and I ran inside to my room and curled up beneath my blanket sobbing, slobbering and hyperventilating. I heard his footsteps coming toward me, and I froze; yet, my body continued jerking and shaking from the torture I’d just endured.
“You gonna lie to me again? Say?” He yelled.
Still crying, I barely whispered, “No.”
“I cant hear you!” He screamed, and yanked the blanket off me.
“You better answer me when I’m talking to you! You gonna lie to me again? Say?” He shouted.
I shook my head. He threw the blanket at me and said, “You can stay in here ‘til your mother gets home. I’m sick of looking at you.” Then, he slammed the door.
Despite my pain, I fell asleep.