Ok I've realized that I'm not mad enough to do this blog the way it was originally intended, but since I've started the story, I'll finish it. Feel free to ask questions; this is going to be a cursory telling of the story. It won't even scratch the surface of the madness that we endured.
When I was 8, my father started dating a total bitch. She seemed ok to me at the time, though Later that year they got married. Then they convinced my mother to let them take us for the summer. Then they fought for custody. My mother didn't have the resources to fight back, and they encouraged us to tell lies (and believed them) about her that would cause her to lose custody.
The bitch's name is Sandy. Sandy wasn't your ordinary woman. She was a brute. She had manly arms that are equally hairy. She was the type of woman that you want on your side in a bar fight. I am convinced that she had some sort of chemical imbalance, or she was just literally insane. She lied to our father about us. She was also incredibly lazy. Her mother was incredibly rich.
I realized that she was my enemy the day she first made me wear duct tape over my mouth. According to her it was because I was a little rat. My step-brother, her son, was 16 at the time. I had told on him. I was still 8 years old. She made it quite clear that day that she hated us. She told my father that I had cussed her out. She would continue to use this as a method of punishment, even when we had company. Oddly, no one ever said anything about it. I am sure she made up some handy excuse about sparing the rod or some such.
I don't remember when the beatings started. I just remember that we got beaten for not doing things that she never told us to do. We got beaten for doing things the way that she wanted us to do them. We got beaten for talking back if we asked questions in an attempt to clarify. We got beaten for playing with each other. We got beaten for playing with the pets. We got beaten for everything and we got beaten for nothing. She was good about it though. She never left a mark on us where it could be seen. Of course, our behavior changed. We went from normal (ok nothing about us is normal, but you know what I mean), happy kids, to automatons. Teachers knew what was going on. My grandparents knew what was going on. My father knew what was going on. No one even raised a finger to help us. I still don't know why. My father didn't help us because he wanted the inheritance. One time Dusti called a child abuse hotline. Some guy came out and did a cursory inspection of the house, but we suspect that was an act to "prove" that she was wrong. Eventually Dusti made it out and moved in with my mother. She still feels guilty about "leaving us," as she puts it, but I am glad she didn't have to endure any more.
At one point, my little sister developed an eating disorder. She was bulemic. Sandy blamed it on Dusti, but we all knew it was Sandy that caused it. Sandy and my father refused to take her to the hospital. Instead they started mass-feeding her, trying to fatten her up. She would just vomit it back up. Then Sandy would beat her for it. One day she was eating ice cream and she threw up in the bowl. She was so scared that she just mixed it up and ate it. I hated watching that. I couldn't do anything about it. Eventually she recovered on her own.
When I was 10 years old, they convinced us to tell our mother that we never wanted to see her again. This was during the second custody fight. It was the last time I'd speak to my mother for 10 long years. I have always loved my mom.
When I was in the 6th grade I skipped 15 days of school. I would stay home all day and enjoy the peace and quiet. The school would call home, but since I was there, I could erase the messages. I got busted when my father saw my absences on my report card. I was grounded for the following summer, and of course, I got beaten. When asked why I skipped school, I tried to deny it at first, but when I saw he wasn't buying it, I concocted a story about this kid that was bigger than me wanting to beat me up. My father decided that it was time for me to learn to defend myself. He started teaching me how to fight and additionally he enrolled me into Tae Kwon Do classes. By the time I was 14, he refused to spar with me anymore because inevitably I'd beat his ass. He was much stronger than me, but I was far faster.
One day when I was 16, I got up from the table without permission. Up until this point, there was no rule in which we had to ask to be excused. Apparently that rule had gone into effect without me knowing about it. Sandy got up and came at me without a word of warning. She went to slap me across the face and instinctively I blocked it. This pissed her off. She tried to slap me again, harder. I blocked it again. Then she started trying to punch me. I deflected everything she threw at me. Throughout it all I was backing up. My back hit the wall. She was doing everything she could to hit me and I was doing everything I could to prevent that from happening. She got lucky and grazed my head with her fist. I stopped defending myself and attacked her. I picked her up and threw her across the room into the computer table. She never fucked with me again after that, and I knew she was scared of me. For the first few weeks after that when she'd get mad and start to come at me, I'd throw my hands up into a defensive position. She'd stop and tell me to put my hands down. I knew better than to attack her, but there was nothing that would stop me from defending myself. I'd tell her no. Then she'd scream at me for what seemed like an eternity, but as long as I kept my hands up she was afraid of me. Eventually she'd give up. After a while she quit trying to attack me. The mind games never stopped though, and there was nothing I could do for my sister that wouldn't have landed me in jail.
For eight years we dealt with the beatings, the mind games and worst of all, the fear. We lived in fear of this woman. No one should ever experience anything like that. Especially not children. We're all fucked up from it. Still. I tossed her into the computer table 12 years ago. The abuse started 20 years ago. I will never forgive my father for selling us out. I will never forgive the St. Charles Parish Police Department for not taking care of it when Dusti called. I will never forgive the faculties at the St. Charles Parish Public Schools that we attended. We were children.
The title of this post refers to my father, primarily. Ten points to whomever guesses the reference.