Halloween is coming up but the real world is filled with horrors that can rival any horror story or ghostly activity.
My friend and neighbor Kelly told me a story the other day that still sits in the pit of my stomach.
With all of the news about child abuse I thought about a woman I knew who beat her child.
She joyfully told anyone who would listen, and she was the type who demanded an audience, that she had books on the subject.
Let me go back a bit…
She had never intended to have children but found herself pregnant. She was a triple A type personality, aggressive and always the center of attention. She was an expert at all things.
So into her life came a daughter. Unlike her aggressive mother, the child was quiet and meek.
That did not please the woman one bit. She couldn’t bond with this wonderful little child because the child did not live up to her expectations.
So she started to read books, because of course one MUST read parenting books to be an expert. She started to read books by people who advocated beating children. This was all based, she said, on what the Bible said. There was a culture of child beating, to beat the will out of children who did not live up to the expectations of their parents.
I grew up in a world where the Bible of Jesus was about love, not pain or control. Maybe my beliefs aren’t so mainstream.
This mother spoke in a gleeful voice of buying paddles. There were entire catalogs of paddles and other torture devices to be used on children. She attended seminars so she and her husband could learn how to properly beat a child and how to make them obey and force them to bend to the will of the parent.
A quiet meek and willful child has no chance against such monsters. Maybe the act of being willful was really the act of self preservation and fear.
She spoke of locking her child in a dark room. She spoke of missed meals. She spoke of forced activities. By that time a son had come along. The son was perfect and like his mother – he wasn’t quiet or meek. He didn’t need to be beaten. He was loved.
My daughter was about 8 months old at the time, so that would make the poor daughter of the woman I knew about 18 now. I wonder if she hates her mother. I wonder if she has run as far away from home if she can. Does she cut herself? Does she take drugs to numb her pain? Does she sleep with countless boys to feel loved? I wonder if anyone called CPS or if the father cared at all.
I should have said something. I should have done something. I should have told her that she was an evil bitch but the words failed me.
Of course this woman was like any “popular” girl at parties and well, it was all so vile and twisted that I never wanted to see her or speak to her again.
So that is it. I don’t even remember her last name. I remember her first name. I remember her face. I remember that I was in the presence of evil.
I know this wasn’t a pretty story and we don’t have any answers. It was a story that needed to be told. I used my own words… next time I’ll record it or write it down exactly but I hope there will be no next time for a story like this one.
I will have happier things for you later. I promise.
And remember to talk to your child, listen, love, learn, hug, accept and cover your babies with kisses and accept them for who they are.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman