posted on Jun, 16 2011 @ 07:38 AM
My husband and I were blessed with the birth of Our daughter eight and a halfish years ago. For the first four and a half years, We had such a
harmonious, loving dynamic, that there were occasions that She told strangers (waitresses, etc.) We were “The Awesome Family.” We even had total
strangers, as well as friends and family, come up to Us and tell Us how good We were with Her.
Our financial world had collapsed and, rather than take Her into homelessness that was caused by an error in a DSS office – mentioning that once I
had had a 401K but it was gone and that’s why I was there (dear Gods, all of You, *I* was actually desperate for help; how did THAT happen??? - My
life was going up, Up, UP…and then, no jobs, ad infinitum feared at THIS point) We sent the cherished center of Our family to live with My sister
until We were stable. (The saga of years trying to get Her back is a whole story in itself.)
Proving that I didn’t have a 401k became problematic as I could not find the closing statement and the company I had worked for had been gobbled by
corporate America, leaving no One who knew how to help Me. I had long been gone before the takeover. So I called, with minutes draining away, as I
went in a telephone circle. I ended with the first number I had called. I wrote a letter that went somewhere, who knows – never heard, and off We
sent Her “for Her protection.”
But that’s not My deepest guilt – just a gross miscalculation. Oh, no.
The biggest reason They gave for taking Our shining star from us was that My husband laid more than a chaste and gentle touch to Her flesh. The
chaste wasn’t the problem – He connected in anger three times:
The first – She began hitting and kicking Him and after raising His voice and telling Her to desist (essentially) He popped Her upper arm and said,
“See. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
The second – a wee too harsh, He admits – but understandable in that two second window while Our “OMG!” just goes wild – when She appeared
out of Her room smeared with Her own feces. He slapped Her cheek three times and made Her take a cold shower. (First, last and only time THAT
And once that gave HIM an “OMG!” moment and didn’t hurt Her at all – He pushed Her against the collar bone and She landed on Her posterior.
For no reason other than at 3 ½ She was going too slowly, and in that OMG! He castigated Himself. He castigates Himself to this day.
But anyway, about MY guilt…
You see…though not My daughter, nor Her “New family” – who used Her words to heavily influence the whole trial, words based on withholding
over two hours of family video of the three of Us (which is just a small chunk of what We got) that was representative of half Her life – have EVER
accused ME of, is abuse (except maybe implied in letting Her NEAR this “monster” of a father), what They don’t know is…
Ok… I have hit My daughter. There. I said it.
Ah. Yeah, You probably want to know how and why. (If not, byebye [smile])
Well, I guess I am the lesser abuser. I only hit Her twice. The first time She was around two years old. I walked into the bathroom and found Her
with two bottles of baby shampoo emptied on the floor (which was wall-to-wall carpet) (five minutes I was busy in the other room; how do kids DO
it!?!) and I reached down, caught Her under the arms, pulled Her to My chest and whacked Her well-diapered bottom with the palm of My right hand.
Three times. Yes.
She did not seem to be in pain, but She WAS surprised. I looked Her in the eye with a scowl, set Her aside to watch and all the while I was cleaning
the mess up, I was explaining about how, not only was it a waste of shampoo – which, even though I was working at the time, was an expense that
drained – Her actions had caused this problem for Me and that dumping things like this was generally not accepted because Others had to clean up the
Perhaps I was too harsh.
And then there was the time She hit Me… Over and over She began to slap Me, laughing all the while. It was around the time My husband finally
showed Her that Others had a right to self defense, and why – He had tolerated that behavior too long and I had intervened with My usual punishment,
tickling, and that usually led to moving on.
Daddy never used the tickling, but I was notorious for saying things like, “You’re gonna get a ticklin’ if You’re not careful!” Daddy would
raise His voice, louder and louder, and when He got loud enough She would cry, and stop hitting. Not the perfect solution – I like Mine better –
but He did not raise a hand as a pretty strict rule.
In retrospect I think She was turning this normal phase of childhood away from Daddy and onto Mommy.
So She started slapping Me and I said, “We don’t hit people.” She continued, and in that voice of the stern mother, I asked, “Do I have to
tickle You, young lady?” She continued, and so…the tickling began. I had found that it usually took around 10 second of tickling to do the job,
and so I tickled Her. For about 10 seconds.
I let off and smiled at Her and to My surprise, She started right up again. Slap, slap, slap, to My cheeks, neck and shoulders. Oh, I was gonna
tickle! I tickled and I tickled. TWICE as long as usual! About 20 seconds.
And again, as soon as I stopped, She was at it again. Ok. A minute. She gets a whole minute of tickling. (I had never before come close to a
minute – always, 20 second did it.)
And She got at least 60 seconds of tickling. Oh yes. Maybe even 65.
And, yes. The slapping started, once more. At this point I had the desire to defend Myself, but of course, I did not want to hurt My beloved.
Fending off slaps I noted that She was wearing pants that cut off at the knee and Her calf was bare. With My right hand I smacked Her with as much
force and in similar manner as I might if I had to move a hot quart saucepan across the burner an inch or so, with My bare hand on the side of the
pot, not on the handle.
There it was. I had hit her.
She burst into tears like I have never otherwise seen Her do – which in MY self castigation made Me feel terrible! Oh geez, I actually HURT her!
– when She sobbed, “Mommy! You said You would never hit Me!” And so again, She was surprised.
Holding back My own tears, knowing I had indeed broken a promise, I tersely said, “Now You know why We don’t hit People.”
And then I hugged Her and We cried and cuddled and moved on to the laughter that was Our norm.
I know, I was hideously abusive, but… That was shortly before She was four, and the behavior stopped, never seen again in Our family.
So I guess it’s a good thing that They – My sister, Her entourage, My father-in-law and His wife (My husband’s scorned step-mother to whom My
family, et al, has been listening from 3000 miles away) – took Her away from Us.
We are indeed horrible parents.