Child Abuse Story of Healing and Recovery from Kristopher

by Kris
(Sacramento, California, USA)

I read some of these stories and I feel a closeness with these people. I lived and was brought up in a middle class Christian home. From what I can remember in my childhood was that you lived a normal life until you heard dad's truck pull into the driveway from work. That one little sound changed everything. A wall of fear instantly went up, my brothers and I would retreat to our bedrooms quickly and the house would be dead silent. So quiet you could literally hear my fathers key sliding into the keyhole at the front door.

If you were caught passing him by in the living room or hall you would say hi dad but you would get a look that had no expression. As you passed by you would feel the hair stand up on your neck and it seemed to all be in slow motion. If anything was said it was him wanting to know if I had done anything that day to contribute to the home. At this age I was usually out playing army with my friends on the block. He would go to my mother looking for any wrong doings that may have happened on that day. My mother was a very strong christian woman, she would not lie to my father if he had asked. I do remember her trying to lighten it a bit but that never worked. If I had done something or got into any trouble at school he would find me where ever I was in the house and point his finger at me and motion with his finger to follow him. I as always followed and did what I was told. I usually ended up in the garage or out in the backyard. I would be asked about the day and knowing he already knew I would share it again. My father would then give me his pocket knife, the pocket knife was for me to go and cut off a switch "tree branch" from one of the many tree's in the yard. In obedience I did just that and would hand both the knife and the switch to him. Usually after that before you know anything the switch is flying all over your body. I got the switch at least two to three times a week. I was also followed with a switch while mowing the lawn. If I ran over a rock or twig with the lawnmower the back of my legs would know it immediately. I was ADHD growing up and was on ritilin many years. I know later in my years I began to get mouthy with the beatings. A few times I was picked up by the neck only to wake up on the ground.

My cousin and I once went into my fathers garage to use some tools to build a fort in the backyard. Apparently we left one of the tools in the yard and so I was to join him in the garage once again. He asked me to close the garage and so I did. When I turned back around my father had a hand gun in his hand. He walked up to me and put the gun into my mouth. He asked if I had been in the garage and I answered "we only wanted to make a fort" with the gun being cocked back I was told that If I ever went into his things that he would kill me and he would bury me under the garage and when the police came looking for me that he would turn on the crocodile tears saying he wants his boy back, please find my boy. I never got into his things again. Lesson learned I guess.

Looking back.... Being punched or kicked in the stomach was just normal. The welted and bloody legs were normal we thought. I can remember being in a room with my brothers and us sharing who had the most blood spilled or the darkest bruises.
With all the beatings I took as a child I still remember there was one worst thing, That was to watch or listen to your siblings screaming. I would have so taken their place if I could back then. The other worst part is the things I still feel. The pounding into my head and my brothers that we were nothings. We were worthless we were only in his way and took things from his life because he had to buy us food or clothes. I still hear that voice once in awhile that I can't doing anything because I am stupid and worthless.
My father was always a very bitter man and he held onto grudges for life. I knew he had an abusive father growing up himself. His mother was dying of cancer and his father was abusive to the bed ridden mother. Stories say when my father tried to protect his mother he got beaten down good.

The only thing I can think of and what I did that started the healing was to forgive my father. I did that 18 years ago and from there on my father began to change. I began to hear things like he was proud of me or he loved me. I ended up with two daughters that he cherished and showered with love and positive words. My daughters loved him and only knew him as a kind and gentle person.

People do change and people do break chains. In 18 years I have never laid an angry hand on my children nor have they ever heard a hateful or painful remark towards them from me. So.....Me forgiving my father, is that what changed him? I don't know. But sometimes that's all it takes is for someone to hear or feel a kind gesture that they may just have never heard before. Reminds me of the story of the small mouse who pulled the thorn out of the lion's paw. That one act of kindness Changed everything.

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