The Healing Wind-beginning of Part one

When I was eight years old, my family lived in a railroad  flat in Philadelphia.  It was a second floor walk up in an old, working class neighborhood.  Sometimes, things got rough between my parents. Many of my nights had been filled with the terrifying sounds of their fights.  I knew he hit her, but I had never actually seen him do it. I was afraid of him and I often hated him.  He would leave for a few days, while Momma tried to explain away the bruises. Then, he’d be back and things would go all right for a while .  Then one night, when my brother and I were supposed to be asleep,  I saw him hit her , over and over again.  Then next ten years of my life were spent trying to stop that slow-playing memory from moving through my head.  All I could think of was trying to leave that place and those memories behind me; to find a way  and a place  where I could heal.
Momma was standing in the kitchen in her old pastel nightgown.  She was pleading with  Daddy .
“We don’t have any food in this house. The bills haven’t been paid.”
I saw the anguish in her brown eyes.  She wiped a tear on the sleeve of her nightgown.  Her head was bowed as she continued.
“They are cutting the lights out tomorrow, we won’t electricity.”
“Shut up, woman!”  Daddy shouted, slamming a newspaper onto the table.  He was angry.  I could tell he had been drinking, that always made the anger flare in him.
Momma saw me at the corner and seemed to regain her strength.  “What did you do with the money? Drink it up?  Gamble?  Our kids have to eat!”
His face was red and he was yelling at Momma.

3 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    There is a light that never goes out…and I will throw a piece of my heart into it, to nourish it for you!

  2. 2

    Oh the memories this brought back…I am so sorry you had to live through that. It is this kind of child hood that makes us stronger but it also makes more areas of our life a struggle. bless you my friend xxx

  3. 3

    Lucid Gypsy said,

    This is so many people’s experience and why I hate alcohol.

Comment RSS · TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: