holding back the tears

i'm sitting here at this computer thinking back to when i was a child. i suppose it has a lot to do with Mother's Day coming next month, and my mother being gone for close to 19 years.

i was an only child to my mother, yet the baby sister of my three siblings. i think of the things i went thru growing up - most of it extremely painful. i try not to linger in the painful part; yet, every now and again, my mind wanders into it.

my mother was a very fiesty, very short-tempered woman. one moment she could be laughing and joking, and the next moment, if she was angry, her words would cut like a two-edged sword, and she spoke Cuss fluently. when she got angry at me, oh my God. she'd find my weaknesses and hammer on them like a crazed construction worker. when she beat me, she had NO MERCY. none. whatever was handy at the moment, be it a book, a shoe, extension cord, wire hanger, or her hands and fists, my body was fair game. i remember her anger at me for taking too long getting ready for Sunday service. she threw a hardcover book at me which caught me in my right eye and turned black and blue. i had to go that Sunday with my eye all bruised and swollen and i dared not tell anybody how i got it, or else.

dont get me wrong, my mother had her good points...she was an excellent cook, she was extremely clean and kept our place spic-and-span, she knew how to sew, bake bread, and can fruits, vegetables and soups. she even taught home economics to the high school female students, and taught penmanship to the elementary and high school students at my school. it seemed like there was nothing she couldnt do -- except make me feel like she really loved me. i'm sure she did in her own way, but i used to wish that i could talk to her about anything and not get yelled at or cussed at. when i hit puberty, and got my first period at age 12, she basically told me about the menstrual cycle and that was it. talk about sex? OH HELL NO. why would i ask about that? it wasnt gonna happen as far as my mama was concerned. she didnt tell me what to expect if i liked a boy or a boy liked me, and most of the boys were too afraid of her to even think about liking me. in fact, i would get teased about it -- "ooh, i'm tellin' your mama on you" bla bla bla and once it got back to her, my ass was grass.

i used to get teased unmercifully about being shy, and about how my hair would be braided, and my head being slightly off. omigod, a lot of times i cried, which only fueled my tormentors even more. i've often wondered if i have slight brain damage because of my lopsided head.

anyways, i was about 5 years old when my mother was going thru "the change." i didnt know anything about it, only it seemed that she was meaner than ever. i remember her being really angry at me for something and she made me pack my clothes into two brown shopping bags and told me she didnt want me no more, and to get the hell out of her house. i started to cry, wondering howcome Mama dont want me no more, and when she heard me crying, she came into my room and screamed at me to shut up and get out. i cried even harder, because i felt like Mama hated me. she stood there and watched me put my things into the bags, and still crying, i dared to ask, where am i gonna go Mama? to which she snapped, i dont give a damn, go live with your auntie, just get out! i cried til i felt like my soul would burst, i was so hurt. i'm 5 years old -- where was i gonna go? how would i get there? why does Mama hate me so much? i thought as i sat outside the door on the carpeted steps outside our apartment still crying my eyes out.

i had no idea that "the change" was making her so mean. i was a little girl, so what did i know? anyways, after what seemed to be hours, Mama opened the door and with tears in her eyes, told me to come back in and said how sorry she was for how she treated me. i cried even harder. remembering all of this has started the tears flowing as i type these words.....excuse me for a sec.....

*taking a deep breath* childhood wasnt an easy time for me. whatever some hateful old sister in the Mosque told my mother about me allegedly "acting up" she believed it without question and i got the beating of my life about it when i got home. she took off her shoe, and started beating me upside my head, my face, my body. i cried helplessly saying 'i wont do it no more mama! i'm sorry!' but my cries fell on deaf ears. i was crying so loud she put a pillow over my face and almost smothered me to death.

i once thought i could fight my Mama to stop her from whuppin my ass. big mistake. it only enraged her more and she threw me upside the wall and slapped the shit outta me. still angry i yelled at her "i hate you! drop dead!" what did i say that for? the only thing i remember is waking up in my bed and feeling sore all over. plus my head hurt.

then one day me and this other little girl were playing at the clothing factory where our mothers worked. this girl kept on teasing me about candy, and i kept telling her i was not allowed to eat candy. anyways, the girl gave me some of it and said, i wont tell your mama. of course she lied. she told my mother, and my mother was livid with rage. once we got to our apartment, she kept shoving me up the steps, snapping and cussing about how she was gonna half-kill me that night. and she did.

i was trying to vacuum the carpet, and out of nowhere my mother grabbed me up in my collar, slappin me hard and yelling at the top of her lungs. then she picked up this old butcher's knife and backed me into a corner with it, looking at me with eyes of pure rage, and told me "i oughta cut your goddamn head off" as i felt the blade digging into my throat. i was crying and screaming, "mama, please please dont kill me, please!!!!" i swear, i never saw such rabid, feral rage in anyone's eyes like that and still crying and pleading for my life, i pissed myself. finally she threw the knife into the sink and told me to get the fuck out of her face, and slapped me so hard my head hurt.

i ran into my room bawling my eyes out. i had never been so afraid in all my life. i couldnt even sleep that night, i was so terrified that she'd come in my room and hack me to death. so talk about having the piss scared out of you, that was me. i was about 9 years old, i think.

the first time i talked about the abuse i suffered as a child, i cried like someone had ripped my heart out. i sat in the chair and held myself as i cried. having suppressed all of those memories, i couldnt hold back the tears no longer. it still haunts me to this day.

i have to go now....i feel the tears starting up again...