NEED A GREAT COVER ARTIST?

NEED A GREAT COVER ARTIST?
NEED A GREAT COVER ARTIST?

Friday, November 21, 2014

Severed

People were yelling at each other in my kitchen. It sounded like mom and dad. So I dropped the doll that I was playing with, toddled out of my bedroom, and down the wooden staircase.

Their voices grew louder and angrier as I passed through the creme and turquoise colors of the living room.

I stopped dead in my tracks, shocked, and feeling helpless. A four-year-old can't protect themselves let a grown man like my dad.

Mom stood to the right of me, baring a pointed knife. Dad was to my left, arms spread wide, palms up. He was far enough away not to get stabbed.

I don't remember saying anything to either one of them. But they both went silent and both glanced down at me.

Mom dropped her weapon. 

It wasn't long after this event that my sister, mom, and I were on a plane to Florida.

Years later, my dad explained that the incident was over her obsession to strip and wax the floors throughout their house every other day, including the wooden staircase. Everyone in the house had slipped and hurt themselves on the later. 

He just couldn't deal with her obsessions anymore, the violence, or her wacky stories.

Mom wasn't like other moms or wives. I learned that early on.

To be continued...

26 comments:

  1. Wow, that's intense. Thanks for sharing it and glad you are a survivor!

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    1. I've been told by peeps how amazed they are that I don't drink or do drugs.

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  2. Oh My Lord.
    How incredibly horrific awful. But what is even sadder is at that time in your life their was no life line for you or your Dad.

    cheers, parsnip

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    1. The distance and my mom made sure of that.

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  3. Wow! I think your dad got the short end of the stick on that one. What a horrible thing to remember from childhood.

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    1. For many years, I thought it was a reoccurring dream until my dad described what he went through 10 years ago.

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  4. Whoa! I agree with Eve. That is intense stuff.

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    1. I lived in fear for many years. Even after I left her house.

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  5. Awful indeed. I'm sorry you had that background

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    1. Funny. I just thought it was a wierd dream or thought. It's amazing how we protect ourselves.

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  6. The trauma of childhood memories, memories so traumatic, impact our lives. I'm saddened to read this, my kind friend.

    Penny

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    1. Stuff happens. I don't want anyone to be sad for me.

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  7. Wow, now if that doesn't just mess you up.

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    1. Dianne: my life has been one big journey trying to figure it all out.

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  8. What a terrible thing for a child to see. Glad you emerged sane.

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  9. Interesting post. Until reading the comments, I thought it was one of your fiction stories.

    http://joycelansky.blogspot.com/

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    1. Oh no...told you this was going to be personal.

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  10. At home I used to be paddled with a yardstick, ping-pong paddle (etc), when I made mistakes in spelling, or math. One time I fainted, and while my mom held me, my dad splashed a glass of water into my face. I was thought to be stupid. I've at least a 110 IQ, but I'm dyslexic.
    Oh, the horrors of being brought up in a dysfunctional home. I hear you, sister.
    Warm Chocolate Hugs.

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  11. I'm sorry this is a real memory from your childhood. :( As far as dreamy memories, I've a few from childhood that come across that way. They don't seem real, but they are, and I remember them with a bit of a blur to them.

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    1. I know what you mean. I think it's our own way to protect ourselves.

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  12. Those kind of memories have a powerful impact on a young life--throughout their life too. I know it all too well. Many hugs, Shelly.

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    1. They shape our stories and who we become.

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  13. Oh Shelly...I had no idea...so sorry to read this...
    We may have been poor, but I'm so grateful to have been raised in a nurturing environment....

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