Daddy dearest – Charming Champion Boy is Mr Alcoholic Rage
Charming Champion Boy is Mr Alcoholic Rage
ISPENT my early childhood years in a hellish household. Violence from my father’s drunkenness was chilling.
My mother, a teacher and daughter of a pastor, never realised abuse when it started. She told me that she thought that he was playing until the voice grew angrier, pinches became slaps that got harder, frequent nudging led to a shove down the staircase, and the cigarette that accidentally burnt her became deliberately extinguished on her skin.
She fled to her parents’ home but had to return to ‘bite her rock stone’ because she went against their foreboding and married him.
At home with her abuser and restrained by the fear of what society would say, three siblings came after my birth and it was like she was in prison.
The recent spousal killings have ignited my memory, and to date, I cannot comprehend why my own mother did not run from an abusive relationship.
I remember my brothers mapping out hiding places in the day in preparation for the terror that might befall in the dead of night when he came home drunk.
Somehow, I never had the courage to hide because of that inseparable mother and daughter, female and female alliance. I was loyal to her and fully understood my role: scream until the neighbours came. If you can get to the door, run and call the neighbours.
It was a big job for an eight-year-old and I looked forward to the compliment for screaming very well. Where I was unable to reach the door, I watched in horror, my heart pounding in terror, hoping that she would survive it.
The day after there was silence between us, my chubby fingers gingerly traced the quilted terrain of her bruises, I combed her hair and kissed her intermittently – my token way of taking side with her.
She bore it well, the huge scar in her chest where the shattered rum bottle slashed, the punctured upper lip where the knuckle went
through, the imprint of brutal slaps from a machete after disobeying the order to not write a letter of recommendation for a citizen.
She bore the indignity of being the teacher whose husband beat her in a small community that had no other news to entertain them but that from our home. Among her colleagues she felt inferior, they were privileged with husbands who loved them and who afforded creature comforts and she was that unfortunate person who had ‘no talk’.
In the aftermath of her shame, it was difficult to walk by the little groups on the road, but I ever her warrior on those trips to the shop would encourage her, “Mummy, hold your head straight and don’t call to anybody.” I could not articulate the word ‘hypocrite’ but I knew that despite the looks of sympathy, they were ‘chatting’ her and my mama must never break in public.
But he was also a good man. He was the sweetest person the day after and would cry in repentance. There were promises that it would never happen again, that he loved our mother. The promises were signed off with delicious pastry and other treats.
Knowing that I was the eldest and most defensive child, he appealed to me by putting me in charge of distribution of the treats, and so I disliked him only when he hit her. Make no mistake: I loved him. He was good to his children when he was out of his stupor and that made the whole thing torturous. He battled demons, he, too, had his side of the story – and he needed help.
There was an instance when she packed to leave him and when we were through the door I muttered, “I want to stay with Daddy.” I was on her side but the thought of leaving him alone was just too much. She unpacked. Girls and their fathers ... domestic abuse can ravage the emotions of a child.
CHARMING QUALITIES
What did she see in him? At six feet two inches with a strapping frame, I suppose he was hot. He had a personality to die for. I remember him quite often whispering in her ear and her giggling.
She was a quiet girl from the country whose only big stage was church crusade and who met him while she was at college. She was no match for champion boy and felt lucky to have married him.
No ‘Holy Ghost’ warning from her parents deterred her and she paid the penalty alone because she had to avoid disrupting the sterile home of her celebrated preacher father.
Maybe she kept forgiving him because what she saw in him was not the person whom she married: when the angry clouds dissipated and that person returned it was easy to forgive him. However, the Charming Champion Boy and Mr Alcoholic Rage could never reconcile.
Escape came with a ticket for him to travel. Thank God for former Member of Parliament Enid Bennett, who enabled it. May her soul rest in peace. Travel came months after he would have killed her.
That night the atmosphere was supercharged with a bad energy, unlike any other. The intense rage was compounded when he was unable to break open the door to reach her and he announced, “A murder mi a go charge for.”
He grabbed a huge tong from the kitchen and defeated the glass window at the bathroom, but his arm slipped and wrist was cut almost to bone. He screamed, she flew to his rescue and bound his wrist. Five days in the hospital he was lucky to be alive. Months after, he left the island just before Hurricane Gilbert.
To my surprise, she wept the morning when he left and said that she felt like “a fish out of water!” Can you imagine?
This must be one of the reasons our police move cautiously on these matters; the women have a change of heart when it was time for an arrest to be made.
While she cried, we the four children celebrated his departure, having been beefed up with promises of toys and treats. She died in 2010, and despite his divorcing her, remarrying twice and returning only once, he remained the love of her life; she died with a broken heart.
KNOW WHEN TO RUN
Many people who are in abusive relationships are not that lucky. Know when to run. Every relationship comes with its spat and there are issues that counselling can remedy, but we must detect when the individual needs help outside of what we are realistically able to give.
Do not allow complexities of life to detain you: of what value will assets, prestige and image be to you if you end up dead or behind bars?
If the relationship gets to a stage where harsh words are used, get help. Abuse is more than physical violence, it is also verbal, emotional and psychological.
Left untreated it worsens; it never goes away. Let there be no shame in your game; domestic abuse sweeps the divide of gender, class and socio-economic background.
If it nah work, it just nah work.
Most times, the signs are there but are often confused for the individual loving us excessively. Coming from a situation of loneliness, rejection or the need to feel loved it makes one ripe to fall prey.
That is why fathers need to show their daughters how precious they are, and mothers need to show their sons the honour of being a man.
Women, the days of ‘bupsing’ a man is over. Do not tek di man tings and mek him send you to school if you know that you are not interested.
Men, you do not own the woman. Have the courage and strength to walk away. Do not destroy yourself.
There is so much to say on this issue. The half has not yet been told and we will talk more.
She bore it well, the huge scar in her chest where the shattered rum bottle slashed, the punctured upper lip where the knuckle went through, the imprint of brutal slaps from a machete.