Being in a family like mine, one thing is promised: Beatings. Sometimes ones you don't deserve, but we aren't the judges of that. Especially if the adults had a bad day. One small move, and depending on what you did has the effect of what you get beat with. Shoes, Hands, Feet, Clothing, Hangers, Kitchen Utensils, Belts, Broomsticks, Chanclas. You name it, we've been hit by it. I used to get beat all the time, I was terrified of most of my family. Including my mom.
One time my mom came home angry. She told me I was grounded, and when I asked why she said her favorite 3 words, "Figure it out." She went in the back to go to sleep. About an hour later, my Te - Ta came over to pick up her sons, Michael, Malik, and B.J. She wanted to take me to her house, just because. I had always been her favorite. I went to the back and asked my mom, and she said yes. Half asleep. Later in the day, my mom called and yelled at me, saying that she'd be there in 20 minutes. And when she got here, we were going to talk about it. Now, to someone who just sees this statement as actual talking, most likely doesn't get beat a lot. That meant I was in deep trouble. Te-Ta saw how scared I was and I ended up at Te -Te's residents. There, Te-te was on the phone with Aunty Chekesha trying to find a plane ticket to New York, where Aunty Chekesha lived, as soon as possible.
To this day, I don't know why all the adults were so spooked by this. They all beat their kids, all of them. So why were they so worried about me and the beating I was going to get. But anyway, back to the story.
My mom showed up at Te-Te's Condo and Te-te went outside with me, and tried to make sure my mom wouldn't beat me. They ended up getting into a fight, physically. My aunt yelled at me to go inside. My mom yelling at me to get in the car. I couldn't handle it. I felt like I was being torn in two.
I remember when Te-Te was trying to get me up the stairs to her Condo. My mom reached out to grab me, but she ended up grabbing my hair. Back then, I wore my hair in these loose braids, with beads down them. When she pulled my hair, I remember the beads falling off. One by one the bounced on the ground, like plastic rain.
I wasn't sure what to do honestly. My mom punched Te-Te in the face, and Te-Te fell to the ground. She had lost, but hadn't given up. My mom rushed me into the car and started it. As my mom tried to accelerate off, Te-Te had used her car to try to block us in.
I was surprised at how fast she did that. But it didn't last long because my mom went around her. My mom now knew she couldn't beat me. By now Te-Te would have called Social Services. And if the found one scratch on me, there wouldn't have been a single doubt that she was telling the truth.
Everyone in this fucking family swears up and down that's beating your children is some sign of love. Like that "I'm doing this because I love you" bullshit. Sure. Whatever you have to do to help you live with yourself after having you're child look at you with tears in their eyes screaming, and begging for you to stop.
The whole fucking race is in this trance. That because they got beat, they a have to too. A slow to black people. Very. Slow.
