Just 5 years ago, I got so stressed out as my parents, after 31 years of marriage, made the decision to (finally) part ways. This was not easy in the eyes of a 31-year-old only child, but I let it be as I’d be too old to be taking sides. I maintained a neutral stand on the matter but promised my Mom that I’d support whatever decision she would make TO THE LAST LETTER.
Moving back, Friday before this incident happened, I had my usual Skype chat with my niece, who happens to be my only 101% confidant. I don’t know what grimness wrapped us both that day and I cannot anymore remember why, of all topics, we discussed my father’s physical abuse on me when I was a kid.
I was teary-eyed while chatting, as I related to my niece my most unforgettable beat-up day:
It was a rainy afternoon. Snacks were ready — hotdogs, bread, and butter. That was summer after finishing 3rd grade (I was 9). That afternoon, no water was running from the faucet so we were skimping on what was left for handwash purposes. That too, ran out. So I had to go out and fetch water from the rain so we would have something to clean up with after snack time. I went out through the dirty back door, which had a screen door with a spring, which would close by itself.
After filling half the pail with water from the rain, I requested my Mom to open the door for me as I did not anymore want my hands to be soiled (the door was dirty and food was waiting). My Mom stood up to willingly open the door.
To my surprise, Dad stopped her. He told her I should open the door. Mom insisted on walking to the door but Dad grabbed her. Then he blabbered that the door was not dirty enough and that I should not be TOO sanitary and I should “act like a MAN”.
For almost 10 minutes, I stood by the door and begged them to open it, but in vain. Dad said I won’t eat if I don’t open the door and get inside. In the end, I GOT PISSED (who wouldn’t?). I opened the door, angrily returned the pail where it was and told them my hands had been soiled, there was very little water, and I had lost my appetite.
Before I could even blink, Dad stood up and punched me on the head twice. Something that darkened out my senses. I started to cry and Mom started to nag him. As I was crying, he went to the room, grabbed his belt and started beating me up all he could. I kept on wailing, asking him why and insisting I should not be beaten up just for that. The beat-up lasted for 2 hours. The finale — Dad lifted me, threw me to the bed. Mom tried to defend me but she was taken aback when Dad threatened to punch her. When I landed on the bed, Dad slapped my face, full force, left and right, no end, until I could hardly breathe. He stopped when finally, HE HIT MY EYE.
Mom was CRYING as she was helpless. She prepared hot water and face towel for the compress. My right eye was blue, and I was bleeding. Even if I was profusely bleeding, DAD DID NOT LET ME EAT SUPPER THAT NIGHT.
All for being a kid who was bound to be GAY. All for reasoning out. All for a questioning mind. All for STANDING UP AND FIGHTING FOR WHAT I KNEW WAS RIGHT.
Five years ago, Mom finally had COURAGE to leave my Dad, and she is happily with me to this day.
Five years ago, Dad FINALLY GOT HIS DOSE.
Today, I’m 36. I’ve come out. I’ve succeeded and become independent. I’ve established myself – my home, my dwelling, my career, my life.
Today, though still alive, Dad is reduced to a bad memory.
Today, all remains to be a bitter trace of the past.
Today, I’m finally a BUTTERFLY – Colorful and FREE.
Today, I’m a SATANIST – enlightened, awakened, and STRONG. Nobody can HURT ME anymore unlike before.
Today, I’m GAY, and I’M PROUD OF IT! 🙂