Growing up with Grandma and Grandpa
My mother bailed when I was just two, and my little sister was only barely one. She had vanished until I was almost four when she took me from my father's while he was asleep. She kept me for three months, beating me and calling horrible names, allowing her boyfriend to molest me.
I remember it in my dreams, but I can never see their faces; I only remember the feelings and the voices. My dad finally found me, bruised and welted. My mother had dropped off of the planet once again, so he didn't press charges as he should have. We then moved in with his parents. That's when the real hell started.
My dad worked nights and slept all day, so my grandparents took care of us. We weren't allowed to watch cartoons or do anything kids usually do. We weren't allowed to close the bathroom door, ever. The shower curtain was transparent, and you can see straight into the bathroom from the kitchen counter. Changing clothes was always done in the living room in front of them, but only when dad wasn't home.
Being dragged out of bed by our hair after dad left for work was a nightly thing. We were forced to stand perfectly still for hours, no less than four a night. It didn't matter if it was a school night. We were always "bad kids." The belt left welts on our bottom, back and thighs if we cried or asked why. We lived in filth, cockroaches infested every square inch.
(To Be Continued)
Click here to post comments
Return to Childhood Stories.