"Come here" she said. Her voice was tight, her mouth set in a straight line. She was pissed, and I knew why. I'd been taking the rolls of coins from the bottom of her dresser drawer all summer. The summer I was 12 we lived in a tiny town of about 300 people, and I spent every day home by myself. My days had become filled with that stolen money.
I never intended to take that much. Just that one time, Violet Nogansott and I wanted to go to the empty fairgrounds and practice smoking. We needed cigarettes, and maybe we would stop and get some candy at the store on the way, and then play the new Asteroids game at the restaurant. I was only going to take one roll, just that one time. The only problem was, we ended up doing the same thing every day for the rest of the summer. If we weren't at the local pool or riding bikes, we were in the store buying candy, smoking, or getting high score on Space Invaders, all with stolen money.
I walked into her bedroom where she had the box out on the bed. Only 4 or 5 rolls of change remained, it had been nearly full. This was the vacation money. We had never taken a vacation before, and mom got the idea months ago that she and Dad would empty their change every night, and in a year or so they'd have enough money to put toward a nice vacation. At the end of the summer, they had collected enough change for another coin rolling party. Until she saw that most of what had already been rolled was gone, there was $68.75 missing.
I spilled the truth like verbal vomit. Within seconds my poor mother discovered that her daughter was a thief, a smoker, and a liar. Oh, and I was also hanging out with Violet Nogansott, whom I was forbidden to be friends with.
This is the belt that was brought out.
Mom had always been good to spank just until I cried. She had suffered horrible abuse as a child, so she was always afraid to go too far with physical punishment. This time she was furious though, and the spanking started when I was already crying. I know it hurt, I know I lay facedown on the bed screaming, I know my dad came home shortly after it was over. She made me go to the living room and tell him what I'd done.
He screamed, he yelled, the belt made it's return. He'd stop hitting me when he got tired, begin lecturing again, get furious all over over again, and start in with the belt again. It became a vicious cycle of yelling and getting hit with the belt. My sister was home, and at one point she even came downstairs and begged him to stop.
When I started running, he grabbed my arm and kept swinging. His left hand grasping my forarm, his right hand swinging the belt. We ran in a circle as I tried to get away from the belt, all the while screaming "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" over and over again. He just swung that fucking belt even harder and it bit into my flesh, I didn't know I could scream that loud, or cry that much. When all was said and done, I had bruises, welts, and cuts striping my body from neck to ankles.
I was finally told "get out of my sight, you disgust me". I went to my room. I had been wearing shorts, so my legs had it the worst. She came up and silently cleaned the wounds (yes, it lasted long enough for the first cuts to scab over). She then applied Iodex, and told me how sorry my father was, and I should forgive him. Then she told me I wouldn't be allowed to wear shorts in public for while, possibly not ever again if there were scars.
Later that night I was going downstairs to the kitchen. He was on the stairs. He looked at me for a long time, and said so quietly, "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I should have stopped, I shouldn't have . . ." He collapsed into tears holding me tightly and apologizing.
I had never seen him like this. The scabs across my legs and back cracked open and seeped as I allowed his embrace and bathed in his sorrow. Not that I felt sorry for him, as my mother hoped. I accepted his apology and watched his tears flow down his rugged lined face because by God, I was due at least that much.
I stayed home all that week, it was too hot to wear jeans. Anyway when I did they would become glued to my legs; the cuts wept serous fluid and dried, then tore away and re-opened the wounds. It was just easier to stay home, out of the public eye, and wear my shorts.
The CPS worker woke me when she rang the bell. She was horrified to see my legs and back. I told her that I had gotten a 'spanking' from my dad. "Why are your legs all cut up?" to which I answered truthfully, "My dad has bad aim, plus I was trying to run away for most of it." Finally, she had to ask the question, "What could you have done to get this kind of a beating?"
"I stole $68.75 from my parents to buy cigarettes and play video games."
I kid you not, that nice lady turned around and walked away. We never heard from CPS regarding the situation again.
When I told my mother, she told me that my sister had called CPS. "But it's only because she was mad at your dad for something else, she knows now that she shouldn't have called, she knows that your dad wouldn't abuse you." All I could think of was he sure as hell abused me for the better part of the damned day, but of course I never said it. Despite the episode on the stairs, after the beating it was unspoken knowledge that I had gotten what I deserved.
I was sent to my grandparents in Oklahoma. That brought it's own drama, and as the welts and bruising faded, and the lacerations healed, so did the memory of the beating. My father and I didn't have any type of relationship, we simply resided in the same house together. To be honest I'm not sure that was a change. He never spanked me again, I'm not even sure he ever wore that belt again. I found it in a box of things I brought home after my mother died, and came across it again today while digging in my closet.
The thing is, my dad and I finally realized that we actually liked each other when he became disabled (and a hell of a lot mellower) after a stroke. I was 18. We had 8 years to get to know each other, and then he died.
I considered throwing the hateful thing away when I found it today. That belt though, is a testament to my ability to endure and forgive. Forgiveness isn't my strong suit. When I do find forgiveness within myself, I need to hold onto that.
I put the belt back where I found it.
