Cause and Effect

My father continued to be unavailable to my mother and she continued to be unavailable to her children. He slept out most days and she grew more and more withdrawn. She did not work, so she had no means of supporting us without my dad. We wouldn’t eat unless he provided food, and at times, would go days without eating a full meal. When my dad did appear, the food provided would be everything short of a full meal. I remember one occasion when he came home from a long night at the Banana Boat. He pulled up in his station wagon, my mom went outside and came back with a dozen of glazed doughnuts in hand.

As time went on, my mother became more and more comfortable leaving us alone with me in charge. Before leaving, she would always instruct me not to open the door for anyone. I was so afraid of her, and what would happen to me if I did, those instructions were followed without fail. Well at least until I got tired, tired of being left home alone and tired of being abused.

Ya-Yow’s frustration with Babalu created a casual-effect relationship I do not believe she nor he understood at the time. I remember him being verbally and physically abusive to her. I imagine her, like any woman reading this, not understanding being cheated on. She would post up at the Banana Boat hoping to keep other women away (sort of like a dog peeing on his territory so that it remains his territory). Unfortunately, her presence caused the opposite effect.

Ya-Yow soon took her frustrations out on me. She was just as abusive to me as my father was to her. She would punish me for my younger siblings’ wrong doings (As if I could control anything, I was a child myself). When she returned home from her stake out, if anything were broken or out of order, I would be disciplined by the tongue and hand. She would speak to me in ways no adult should speak to a child and no mother should speak to her daughter. And the beatings….her tools would be whatever she could get her hands on. She would instruct me to get switches off the tree in our back yard, she would use the rubber lining of the window screen, belts, and even a wood board once. I remember a beating that left the back of my right arm swollen for days.

My mom beat me because she was beaten. Not only beaten in the literal sense but beaten in her mind and spirit. You see, there was something about how she perceived herself to allow her to remain in such a toxic relationship. And what my father did to her only added to such perceptions. She, in turn, treated me like she was treated. She treated me how she saw and treated herself.

With Adrian, I was never physically nor verbally abusive. However, I can remember times when my frustration with him would cause me to encounter him in the similar manners, especially when my romantic relationships were on the brink. This was something I was not conscious of until about 7 years ago. I remember once helping Adrian with his homework and getting frustrated because he wasn’t grasping the concepts as I thought he should. He was crying and his tears were dropping onto his homework assignment, making me even more frustrated. The next thing I knew, I had taken his text book and thrown it across the room. He became even more afraid and cried like a baby. I then caught myself and realized that my reaction to him had nothing to do with him. It was reflective of the disgust I felt about myself at the time. Although not to the same degree, history was repeating itself.

Because of my childhood experiences, the tenderness witnessed between a mother and child doesn’t exist between Adrian and I. I am by no means verbally nor physically abusive to my son, but I am conscious of the fact that it is difficult for me to naturally show him the kind of tenderness a mother is supposed to show her child. At times, this makes me feel unsettled. I find it more natural to interact with him in a more rigid, tough way. I now have to continuously practice something that is supposed to be as innate as asking for food when I’m hungry.