Excerpt from "Essays From Dysfunctional Families: Literary Betrayal"

https://www.authorcaseybell.com/fiction.html

Michael R.

Goshen, Indiana

I was born and raised in a town in Indiana named Goshen.  I have one bother and one sister, both younger than me.  We grew up in a home that was very confusing.  I did not understand at the time I was a child why my parent’s did what they did.  They very well knew how to act like the best Hollywood actors, but were never professional actors.  My father was a construction worker.  He brought back pretty good dough.  We were never needy.  When he came home though he was tired, very tired and he spent not much time with us (his children).  Every now and then he would take us to the park and sometimes to exciting places such as: zoos, museums, sporting games, and sometimes the theatre.

My mother on the other hand worked part time as a seamstress.  She was home more often and she would take us out more often than our father.  The only thing that had me; that had all of us confused was there constant change in characters.  After living with them for some time you just got used to the routine.  On Friday and Saturday nights we were left home alone.  At first I wasn’t sure where my parent’s were going, but as soon as I reached an age where I could understand; it was clear.  Not knowing exactly, but I knew it was a bar or club of the sorts.  They came home drunk and sometimes high.  During their “under the influence” times they would do and say things that I am sure they are unaware they were doing.  One night my father came home on a Friday night and asked me to turn the water on in the tub and make sure it was hot.  He said he wanted to take a hot one (bath).  I asked him if he was sure and he said don’t ask me questions just do what I say.  So I went into the bathroom and I turned the water on and made sure it was hot.  After a few minutes he got naked in front of me and got in the tub.  All I heard was a scream that was louder than I ever heard before.  He jumped out of the bath and ran like the roadrunner cartoon in my direction.  Every feeling of fear met me at that moment.  I wasn’t sure what to do (run, scream, fight back) so I just stood there.  My father just cursed every curse word he could find in his knowledge and threw the words at me along with whipping me like I was a slave who tried to run away.  That was the first time I ever really got beat, but not the last.  All I can remember is the pain and the words: “that was too mother fucking hot, you bitch.”  The words and the hits were like hearing a cow meow, just too unnatural for me.  My mother laid unconscious on the couch the whole time, while my siblings were in their room afraid to exit.  Another crazy event I can remember was a Saturday night my mother returned home before my father and she was pretty high.  Before leaving she had asked my sister to wash the dishes.  Because we knew how crazy our parent’s were we always obeyed their every word.  We made sure we completed all chores and when one had problems the other two would help to keep the peace in the house.  When my mother returned there were no dishes in the sink they had all been washed, dried, and put away.  But for whatever reason she saw dishes in the sink.  She woke my sister up and she dragged her to the sink and screamed, what the fuck is this?  My sister was scared, my brother and I watched making sure my mother didn’t see us.  My sister responded fearfully and said what’s wrong?  My mother replied with, didn’t I ask you to wash the dishes?  My sister replied, “Yes mother and I did.”  “Then why are there dishes in the sink?”  “Mother, there are none.  Are you okay?”  At that point my mother got angry and she cursed my sister out as if she was a woman sleeping with her husband.  My mother began to shake her and that’s when I stepped in and tried to pull my sister away from my mother.  My mother dropped my sister and grabbed on to me and began to slap me.  I was trying to show her that there were no dishes in the sink, but she just could not see.  That was the first and only time my mother beat me.  My parents did many things to us all on many occasions that are just shameful and in some cases to unreal to believe, but I swear to them all.  We mostly received verbal abuse and occasionally physical abuse from our father.  Our mother would only abuse us with her words, but she was too drunk to remember anything she said.  The thing that got me confused the most was they would be sober enough to take us to church every Sunday afternoon at St. John’s Catholic Church.  They’re presence at church was completely different from their presence on Friday and Saturday nights.  It was even different from their regular weekday routine.  I could not understand for the life of me how they could be three different people in just one week every week.  That’s why I always thought they were the best actors.  I am pretty sure no one at the bars they frequented ever saw their Catholic Church face and the church never saw their bar/club face.

            Today my parents live alone and they are too old to go bar hopping.  I believe they stopped the drugs and alcohol intake, but they still go to church.  Sometimes my siblings and I sit and wonder if maybe we dreamed it all, because our parent’s never apologized and when we get together I really don’t know if they have any memory of the abuse they put us through.  They talk as if nothing bad ever happened and as if we all lived a regular family life, but we never did.  There are days where I feel like talking to them about it, but I always fear the worst so I just sit on these memories trying to ignore them, but no matter how many days go by without me thinking about them they always return.  As silly as it sounds to this day I do not take baths and do not know when I will be okay to do so.  My brother has a son and my sister has two children, one of each.  However, I am not married nor have children and it is simply because I am afraid I will become my parents, which is something I never want to be.  There are days I wish my life could have been different, but then again without the craziness I had as I child I wouldn’t have the job I have now.  I am a counselor; I counsel families and children who are in abusive situations.  In every case my goal is to end the abuse or send the children to a home where they can experience love.  Sometimes I get jealous because I am helping children receive what they deserve from their parents, love, which is something I never received from mine.