Part 3

Part 3

The first restraining order came in the fall that I was in the 6^th grade. I do not remember the year.

I just know the year started out extremely emotional for me.

My dad had raped my mom that day. It was a dreadful day. I can't say I remember much about it other than it was a school day. I know my dad was on the rampage again. I know I was scared. I know that I had to go to school that day without a lunch. I know at noon when the other kids pulled out their lunches, I put my head down on my desk and cried. It was especially embarrassing to me as I did not like drawing attention to myself.

I know that the teacher pulled me out of the classroom and tried to ask me what was wrong. I don't remember what I said. I know at the same time another girl had stayed at our house a couple nights as her Dad had stabbed a knife into her leg.

As strange as it may sound, we had housed other people that had been abused too.

I remember another woman that had came to our house. I have no clue how she came about to be at our house, how she chose us. I know she was part of the local JW chapter. Her husband was extremely abusive to her. She had tried to get away several times too. Finally she ended up at our house.

I remember looking out the window of our trailer, seeing my dad talking with her husband outside in the parking lot. She was hiding in my room in the back of the house. I know he left and relatives from Medford came and picked her up.

I know her husband tracked her down and killed her.

I know fear gripped my stomach of the same thing happening to my mother.

I remember us being concerned that I had ulcers as my stomach would hurt so bad. I remember a friend of my mother's telling me how I had to be sent home from school with severe stomach aches.

I know there were times that I had come home from school and the restaurant was closed, my mom was in the house being yelled at. Fear constantly plagued me.

The fear of being killed, murdered in our beds, was a reality for me.

I remember a time when we had been trying to eat supper and my dad went off. I grabbed the jug of milk to throw it at him. He dared me to do it. I didn't. I knew the consequences wouldn't be good.

The restraining order was filed and peace came to our house. It was around Christmas time.

I remember the local church brought Christmas presents for us that year.

I know we were able to put up a Christmas tree.

My dad hated Christmas and it was always a hard time of year for us. We were not allowed to have a Christmas tree. I remember one year that my mom got a little tree and put it in my closet with presents.

Shortly after the restraining order was filed, I had gotten my hair cut that winter by a professional hair cutter, at her house. She had a salon chair and everything set up in her house. It was a big deal to me.

I remember “talking” to her. Maybe she asked me questions and I just answered them. I do not know. It was probably the first time that I “talked” to someone in my life. She was kind and I remember her telling me that my face looked more relaxed. The thought astounded me. Did the stress from my home life actually show on my face? She gave me a hair pick that I still have to this day. I think it was probably the first time I actually felt cared about.

I remember telling my mother what she said, that my “face seemed more relaxed with my dad gone”. Besides telling me she was a gossip and I shouldn't be talking about our life with other people, she also told me that “that was not true,” a statement that I would continue to hear for the rest of my life.

I know things started going better for me at school. My grades picked up and I was actually an honor student one semester.

School was hard for me. I remember when I was in 4^th grade, a school aid asking me over and over again what state we lived in. I could not tell her, I had no clue. I know she finally gave up and just gave me the answer. Fifth^th grade I struggled with fractions. I just did not get them.

I know now that this is what abuse does. Abuse causes fear and fear paralyzes the mind.

It keeps you from learning simple things, doing the right thing, or making the right choices.

I know my dad had to take anger management classes and I know that he was allowed to see us kids on a weekend. I am not sure if it was once a month, every other weekend, I can not remember.

I made up excuses every time we had to be with him of why I had to be back home that night.

I know my mother was overly distraught over this. I remember her saying that I was breaking the rules as this was the order from the judge, but my self-preservation instincts were high. There was no way in hell that I was going to stay the night with him. None.

Did I think that he would molest me? Yes, I did.

I do know that I did not talk to him. I did not trust him. I remember that I had to give him something from my mother and I would hide it in his truck instead of just giving it to him.

As the summer wore on my mother started allowing him to come home on weekends. I was livid.

Talk about breaking rules, she was breaking the restraining order. He was to be gone for one year. He was not to step foot on the property for one year. That year was not over.

A new form of abuse came into my life, although I did not see it at the time, but now I know it was spiritual abuse.

We had started going to church while my dad was gone as he could not stop us.

That weekend they were going to be having communion. My mom informed me that I had to “ask my dad for forgiveness” for my attitude toward him. If I didn't, then God was going to strike me dead when I took communion. Supposedly there is a story in the book of Jeremiah about someone who had “sin” in his heart and took communion and God struck him dead.

God, for me, was not just my mom's “thing”. He was my Savior. I loved God and wanted to obey God. I had a heart after God as I desired to please Him. This brought great distress on my life as I did not want to displease God and I most certainly did not want to be struck dead. I know I wrestled over the issue but I did it.

I waited till my dad went into the restaurant and I followed him in there. I can remember exactly where my dad was standing, right next to the freezer that held the ice cream – all 6 flavors. I was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, next to the garbage can. I told him that I was sorry for my attitude toward him. My dad threw it right back in my face saying that the only reason I did that was because my “religion” told me that I had too. I fled the restaurant.

I realize now that it was not my place to apologize to my dad. I was the child. I was not the abuser.

The reality was, he needed to apologize to me, to us. If he truly cared about “us” then he would have sought that reconciliation with “us” which he never did.

The other reality was, my mother used me to try to manipulate my father. It was her belief that if he “got saved” that life would be great and she would have no more problems.

Fall came.

My Dad had finished his anger management classes.

We heated our home with a wood stove and every fall we would have to go get firewood. I remember that we were happy how patient my dad seemed to be and we actually enjoyed getting firewood that fall. There was hope that maybe he had changed. Maybe things would be better.

My brother suffered with ear infections up to this time. He was on and off amoxicillin. This time was different though. He started sleeping more and more, than his eye started slanting in.

I remember my mom talking to the pastor's wife about it over the phone. I remember her saying that she “felt” that something “had to happen to my brother in order for my dad to change”.

I was infuriated. Having a strong sense of having to “protect” my family, this went against all sound reasoning. I knew she was wrong. I was terrified that my mother would let my brother die so that maybe my dad would “possibly” get saved. I demanded that she call the Doctor. She did. She called the ER room and talked to the Dr. on call there. The Dr. told her that he did not have time for women and their pettie concerns over their children.

Now perhaps she didn't explain things accurately, I don't know.

I know when my dad came home that weekend, he set a lighter down in front of my brother, when my brother tried to pick it up, he grabbed in front of it. He was seeing double.

He gathered that boy up and we headed to the emergency room.

My brothers ears had to be lanced and tubes put it in. His ear infection had moved into the mastoid behind the ear. There was so much fluid in his ear drum that it was pressing on the nerve to his eye causing him to go crossed eyed. When the fluid drained out, his eye returned to normal.

I know my dad moved home shortly after that.

Our saving grace was he had bought a semi-truck and started trucking across the country, therefore he was not home during the week. The majority of the time, he would come in on Friday night and leave on Sunday afternoon.

I realized this year had brought a lot of changes. It really was a pivotal year in my family. With the removal of my father for the short amount of time we experienced a sense of “normal”. We had “peace” in our home.

Financially we did not worry as we had the restaurant that supported us. We didn't make a lot of money there as we lived in a small town. Business was good in the summer but not so much during the winter. We saved all we could to make it through the winter.

My dad never contributed to the family's finances. His money was his money. Even while driving truck. He spent his money on himself.

I remember one time my dad taking money out of the till to go to pay for a rodeo he was going to.

I remember my mother crying over it. I also remember that there was a customer in the restaurant at the time.

Everything we had, my mother paid for. 

She paid off the restaurant.

She made sure all the bills were paid.

Really she managed everything. 

 My dad was not a contributing factor.