TKO, But Damn It, I'm Still Standing

I'm yanked from the deep slumber that comes from pure exhaustion by a sharp pain on the top of my scalp and a feeling that there is someone above me trying to remove my head from my neck.  Dad is waking me via hair.  Like the drunk desperately trying to prove to the cop that he is sober, I try to awaken and focus.

"Did I give you permission to go to bed Puke?" is being forced through gritted teeth an inch or so from my face, which he is holding in place with his fingers woven through my long, stringy hair.  I am his marionette--he pulls my strings and my limp body moves to his direction.  Welcome, Jenny, to round three.

As it turns out, round three isn't so bad--a bit of name calling, some slaps across the face, some punches to the gut and a few knocks to the floor--nothing too intense.  The fact that I've been in a deep sleep makes it all kind of dream-like (I have what I consider to be a gift in the deepness of my slumber--I can have a full conversation, eyes open, with someone who wakes me, and not remember a word of it after I go back to sleep and awake again--it has been very helpful in instances such as the aforementioned "round three").

"Go to sleep, you worthless piece of shit," then he leaves my room and I do just that.  In the silence that is left I am Daffy Duck re-attaching my beak that has fallen to the floor, and moving on.  The adrenaline crash returns me to my deep, deep slumber.

I wake to the sound of music from my alarm clock and begin to dress for school.  Whew, respite from punishment.  I do believe that Dad has been waiting for this moment all night, he knows exactly what I'm thinking.  "JENNIFER!!!" jerks me out of my skin and I sprint to his room and, again, assume position of attention.

"Where do you thing you're going, Rat-Liar?" (The double names were always the best--he must've thought extra hard to come up with that one).

"To school?" I ask, beginning to wonder if my days are confused and it's actually Saturday, not Friday.

"You don't deserve to go to school because you're a rat and a liar.  Go to your room, Rat-liar."

"Yes." I return to my room and sit deflated on my bed.    I didn't see that coming at all--I didn't know he could do that but, of course he could, he could do anything he wanted.  He took away my birthday once (told me I would have to be 5 for another year) and he can do this too.  He's the father and it's the 1970's. I wait until I hear Dad go down the stairs, then I let loose the tears.  I watch Dory, Gary, and Dave pass by my room on their way down the hall and glance in at me with pity in their eyes.  It makes the punishment and the fact that I will spend the rest of my life inside this huge gray coffin, somehow palatable that my siblings may actually care about me.

The loneliness of my childhood forced me to rely pretty much solely on God for help.  He was the only one who listened and cared (He had no choice, really, he was the only one who couldn't or wouldn't walk away from or hit me for my words).  So all of the long, lonely hours in my room were spent asking God for help and making promises about my future behavior if that help was received. 

So goes the weekend.  I sit on or lay atop my bed praying and waiting to hear my name.  I respond to endure some form of physical punishment and listen to what a rat, liar, puke I am.  I am allowed after a day or two to join the family for mealtimes at the table but may not speak unless spoken to and the only time that happens is when Dad is hurling insults at me.

I begin to accept the fact that this will be the rest of my life when Sunday night rolls around and I respond to the usual holler of "Jennifer."  To my sheer suprise he askes me if I have learned my lesson.  "Yes," I respond with a stomach full of butterflies.  Could this mean what I think it means? 

"Why should I believe you?  You're a liar and a rat."

"Because I know now not to be a liar and a rat."

"Prove it."

Here's my chance.  "If you let me go back to school, it will never happen again,"  kinda sounds like my plea to God.

"Again, why should I believe you?  All you've proven to me is that you're a liar."
This is my last chance.  I need to make it good.  Lay it on thick.  "You have taught me that it's wrong to lie and it's wrong to get people in trouble and it will never happen again.  Please let me prove it to you by letting me go back to school."  And I really mean every word of it.

I see his face soften, "Alright, I'm going to believe you this time.  I better never get a call from your school again.  Do you understand?"

Do I understand???  Yes, yes, a million times yes!  Could it really be over?  "Yes," I practically shout at him.

"Go take a shower, you stink."

I am thrilled to oblige and so I shower, go to bed and return to school on Monday morning.  I've survived my first real punishment.  Yay for me in the tone of Willie Wonka telling the bratty children not to do something that will hurt them. 

Of course I didn't win, I never did with Dad.  It's a TKO but at least I'm still standing.  The weekend as a whole, is a rock that adds quite a bit of music to my brook.  I think I'll leave it right where it is and enjoy its guitar solo with a bit of oboe added for good measure.  What is pain?  Oh yeah, that's right, it's weakness leaving the body!

Jen ;-)