My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
We danced around his abuse for years. Finding bruises on our skin purple and red and blue. He hit her the most. He hurt her the most. She protected us the most. She protected herself the least.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
He would huff and he would puff and we would hide under the beds and cover our ears. Hopefully the big bad wolf could not quite hear our tears. She stood tall and built us a wall to protect us from the big bad wolf. First with straw, that he just broke down with ease. Then with sticks, which held up for a while, but still he managed to break down. After many years she built a wall for us with bricks, a sturdy wall, to keep the big bad wolf out. He couldn’t get to us, but we could still hear his voice as he tormented us with cruel insults. He turned our safe space into a cage, trapping us in, never really being able to escape.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
We hid in the upstairs bathroom, in the house on Foxtrot Drive. The lock on the door was not enough to keep him out. We had to pull the drawer out to block the door just to keep him at bay. His rage was a fire, we all had burn marks, the scars are still there, you don’t have to look too far.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
We left that place, packed our lives into boxes. Leaving our old lives in the house and finding a fresh one with our grandparents. He wanted to see us, me and my sisters, not out of love, but to punish my mother. They said he could see us, but only on weekends. Twice a month, for two days, we would be trapped in the basement with the bull. Would the bull burst? Would his patience run thin? Would we be stuck in the crossfire of the raging bull? We would come back with bruises, with ouchies and boo boo’s. My mother couldn’t protect us from him anymore. We were left right in front of the raging bull with no armor to protect us.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
My sister hid his slippers. I told her not to, but she wanted to tempt him. Tempt his rage, to see if he would boil over. He huffed around in a hissy, looking for his slippers. He knew she had hid them. She giggled with glee thinking of the wonderful trick she had pulled. He boiled over, his rage and patience were met. He hit her on the back, the little girl whose in grade two, the little girl with untamable curls. Who doesn’t know boundaries and tries to be funny. He hit the little girl, my little sister in the back, her tiny body collapsed from the pressure. The rest is a blur, a trauma, too repressed to remember. I told the social worker.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
A child lawyer came to each house. My mom baked cookies and the lawyer talked to us all. On a weekend with the bull, he was in a surprisingly good mood. No kettle boiling over with nothing but patience for me and my sisters. He offered us treats and bought us art kits. He asked us to draw us together as a family with him. To draw us all happy and smiling. We did as we were told, too scared to say no. He let the girls paint outside, of course not in the dungeon of the basement where we were kept. We were allowed upstairs for a change, and not just to go to the bathroom. This is suspicious I thought, but I need not worry, maybe he’s changed and finally learned to love us. Then the child lawyer showed up at the door. He knew she was coming he showed pictures and told them about how the girls were painting. I told her it was a ruse, that this is not what it’s normally like, but she fell for his tricks and listened to his lies.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
My mother fought hard in court to protect us. She brought all the evidence forward, the bruises and the stories we told her in private. She listened with melancholy, when we talked about our weekends with him. How he would hurt us, and the bruises he left. She brought all she could, and fought with all her might to protect her little pigs from the big bad wolf. Her lawyer told her to give up, but she would not quit. After years of abuse she would never give in. She wouldn’t let him near her babies. She wouldn’t let the big bad wolf puff or huff near her babies again. Not on her watch, would she allow them to suffer, she brought all the best weapons and her armor of pure steel and eventually she beat him in this game of tug of war. She won the war, but lost some of the battles. Her children were free but what was the matter? They had a choice but she couldn’t tell them. Against the law she was told. So they were still trapped.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
Eventually they refused to go see the big bad wolf, realizing it was in their power all along to be free of the prison he had built. They were not little piglets anymore, but wolves as well, and wolves are brave and stand together against the alpha. So the little wolves did, they stood up told the big bad wolf telling him he was wrong. They howled together in unison. He could not hurt them anymore for they had their power. For they were in a pack, and when the wolves howl together, there is no holding them back.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
This happened in a parking lot, a carpool parking lot on the edge of the highway. He came to take us away, to bring us to the basement, to the dungeon for the weekend. I didn’t want to go. It was November, and my friend Sara was having her birthday party this weekend at her farmhouse. Her parties were so much fun; her mom would make crepes for everyone. We would get to pet her cows and jump on the trampoline at Sara’s farm house. If we went with him I couldn’t go to her house. I would be trapped in the basement in my father’s parents house. I decided I wouldn’t go, even if he said no I wouldn’t listen to him because I didn’t want to go.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
When we met in the parking lot on the cold November Friday night. He pulled up in his silver car ready to take us away and out of sight. I found my courage, my voice to be brave. I got out the car and told him, I wouldn’t go. I told him he was wrong and mean and cruel. I told him off for a while, then I ran back into my mom’s car, falling into my brothers puffy black coat tears rushing down my face.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
He was not happy about this. No he was not happy at all, his rage was blown up. He tried to force us to go, but we hid in mom’s car, hoping he couldn’t get to us. Could the big bad wolf break in to a car? My mom stood guard, protected us from his rage. He called the police on my mom telling them that she was holding us hostage and wouldn’t let him see his kids. He asked the police to force us to go. To yank us out of my mom’s car and into his own. They refused and told us to go home. We were free for now until his next weekend when the events would repeat until he was ordered by the police not call again or he would be charged. So he stopped, and we were free. Free from his grasp, a shield from the big bad wolf we had at last.
My father was a monster. My mother was my shield.
His claws were still in us, the scars are still there we will never be rid of him. We try to forget, try not to think about it, but he left marks in us that run deep. The type of scars that won’t ever fade. There is no running away from the big bad wolf.