Because of the darkness in my childhood, I had a deep appreciation for life. I was fortunate enough to turn a tragedy into triumph. Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun, and not having nightmares in the darkness of the soul.
I had to finish the dishes on time; otherwise I would not have breakfast. Since I didn’t have dinner last night, I must make sure I get something to eat. I heard her stomping down the hallway towards the kitchen. I dipped my hands back into the scalding rinse water. It was too late, she caught me with my hands out of the water.
I felt a sudden forceful blow on my face and I toppled to the floor. I acted timid, nodding to her threats. I was famished and desperately needed food. Another blow pushed my head against the wall. Her sadism was satisfied and she stormed out of the kitchen.
I breathe a sign of relief. The act worked. I said to myself, “she can beat me all she wants, but I won’t let her take away my will to somehow survive.
I finished the dishes, then my other chores. For my reward I received breakfast which was leftovers from my brothers’ cereal bowls.
I rushed to school, panting at the top of my breath. I met the nurse when I passed the school’s clinic and she examined my body which was badly bruised. She began to question me like before, and I just repeated what my mother told me, that I accidentally fell.
During the years before I was abused, my two brothers and I were blessed with the perfect parents. Our every whim was fulfilled with love and care.
I recalled looking out of our living room bay window on a clear day, to gaze at the lovely scenery, waiting for my father to come home.
My father was a full-time business man and came home late. He did this for us to enjoy a good life. My mother was a mother full of surprises and was the dominant person in our family. She always took command in our family matters. She was meticulous at housework and everything she touched turned to gold.
The most memorable thing was when my mother and father took three of us to watch the sunset and all of us held hands. I still remembered the smooth breeze that blew through my hair. From above, I felt someone hug my shoulders. I thought it was my father. I turned around and was astonished to find my mother holding me tightly.
My relationship with my mother drastically changed from discipline that developed into a kind of lifestyle that grew out of control. Sometimes she may come back home, drunk, and just vent her anger on me. She always played her games with me to the point of death. I used to ask her the reason for her treating me like this, but she just told me that I had been a bad boy unlike the old times.
I loved it when dad was home; It meant to me no beatings, no screamings, and none of mother’s favourite games.
In school, teachers often pity me and knew that I had some family problems. I often steal food as I was not given breakfast, resulting in complaints from my classmates’ mothers, resulting in some more beatings.
My fantasy included the family living happily after, and I sometimes stare into space and imagined the old mother I had.
Weeks passed by and mother’s games seem to change into more severe, and one day, as I was doing the dishes, I exceeded her time limited. This time, she took out a knife and threatened me that I do it quickly or the outcome will be worst. Knowing that I had never accomplished mother’s expectations, I just took it as an act of intimidating me.
Time slowed to a crawl and as she shouted for me to finish the last dish, she stepped forward, unaware of the knife pointing at the front, it jabbed my stomach. The pain was excruciating and I crumpled to the floor and my world turned black.
The next thing I remembered was mother helping me with my wound. She told me that it was an accident, but I doubt it was. At first she began to bring me back to the past, talking about the times when we as a family were together, but her toned changed suddenly back into the same hostile manner, and replied that it was due to me not behaving myself did things started to change. I hated myself after all that nonsense and sometimes I may stare at the mirror, finding me repeating over and over again that I was a bad boy.
After that knife accident, I returned to school. The nurse who often treats my body and the teachers eyed at me with concerned and they got into the situation and found out the truth. At first I was very intimidated and I thought after calling my mother and the cops, I would receive more treatments.
After a few minutes of waiting which seemed to last forever, a police officer came and questioned me.
“Don’t be afraid kid, we are hear to help you, we just need to find out the truth,” He said.
“But that’s the truth, I just ran into a sharp edge,” I answered, looking terrified than ever.
It took a few moments of repeating and silence did I then reveal the actual thing that happened. I saw tears running down the nurse’s cheeks.
That was the day when I was sent to a place where I was taken care of, without mother.
When I was in a car, my heart was filled with a mixture of happiness, freedom, and sadness. I was finally free from the place of solitude and torment, but I was set apart from my father whom I had loved. Even though he sometimes was not there for me, but his presence gave me a sense of security and happiness. He often told me, “Don’t be like me son, make things for yourself, do your best in whatever you do. Don’t let that mad woman stop you.” That changed my attitude towards life and the past seemed to fade away.
Being taken care by my foster parents, I still had wet dreams and still traumatized by my past happenings, I struggled to make things out of myself and get rid of the past.
Life for me changed when I was 37years old and married to my wife, Mary. We had a child and I promised myself to make the best for him, ensuring that I would not give him the same experience that I had when I was a child. I worked as a speaker, going round to speak to different groups of abused children and make a change in their lives, wanting to break the cycle of child abuse. Sometimes one of them of the group of children may speak out, saying that I had no right to say about them. I would share with them my stories of the past.
It was a few months time did I then thought of going back and confronting my mother, and at the same time, visit my grandmother. I spoke to my younger sibling, Tony. I did not talk to him for many years and when I met him, I gave him a warm hug. I was shocked to hear that my other siblings were left abused by mother. Fortunately, some of them are finding a job to escape mother’s games.
I then know how fortunate I actually am, compared to my other siblings.
I went to my grandmother’s house and stayed there for three days, and later set off to my mother’s place. When she heard that I was to go to my mother’s place, she fumed with rage, and start bringing the past of my mother to me. I realized that my mother not only had strained relationships with many people, but also had disputes with her own mother.
I then asked the reason for my mother’s behaviour, she then left the table I was at and did not spoke for a few long hours. As I went deep into the situation did things fall into place. My grandmother actually treated her daughter harshly, leading to her treating me the same way. My heart sank. I was afraid I might do the same thing, and one day just go crazy with me abusing my beloved son. The hatred in me seemed to draw to grandmother instead of mother. But I knew no one else was to be blamed, and I can make a difference.
With a bouquet of white flowers, I went to the door step of my mother’s house. I felt a lump in my throat rise up. I pressed the door bell, and surprisingly, two smiley faces went to greet me. It was my two brothers, one of them whom I met days ago.
“She’s not hear anymore. I’m afraid she passed on, so did father,” My elder brother said, and went inside his room, coming out and handling me a badge from father.
“He wanted you to have it.”
Everything went to sudden. As a family, we went to visit their graves.
“He was a peaceful man. He shouldn’t die so quickly.” I murmured.
What had been done cannot be undone. I wanted to spend time with my father. I wished that I could just have one day with him, at my favourite river, spending quality time with him, talking about the present and not the past.
After my parents’ death, things began to fall into place. I seldom had night sweats and I’ll still remember the great man who may have been unsuccessful in his life, but to me, was still the greatest hero. He is my father.

Idea from the book, "the child called it" by David Pelzer (not the whole passage! Because the book is very very thick)