Tag Archives: scripture

Ages of Brutality

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Hi  to everyone who visits this site and welcome to day four of My Precious Life blog.  A reminder to scroll down to day one to access my opening blog and then scroll up to read the preceding chapters. And now to continue the story.

Chapter Three – Ages of Brutality

I witnessed brutality at a very early age.  I was three years old when I watched, wide-eyed and terrified, as blood oozed from my mother’s mouth.  My dad had backhanded her in a drunken rage.  I remember tugging at his leg, screaming, “No, Daddy, no!”  He seemed completely unaware of me.  My sobbing mother shouted at me to take my sister and hide.  I pushed Mary’s diapered bottom under our parents’ sagging bed at the back of the tiny house, and wiggled in after her as our mother shrieked, “Jack, stop hitting me!”  But he didn’t……….

Be kind and compassionate to one another…(Ephesians 4:32)

This chapter describes the brutality I witnessed in the early years of my life and into my teens. Thankfully, the memories did not damage my psyche and are now material for my book.  I should mention that each chapter contains a lesson from my life and tomorrow’s chapter is a lesson in identity–how I got my name.

 

 

 

 

A Feeling of Abandonment

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In those first few moments, I felt abandoned. My mother passed me into the arms of a person who I had never seen before in my short life.

“What time will you be back?” The question hung in the air like the smell of last night’s boiled cabbage.

“Six,” said my mother, as she rushed out of the house to avoid my wailing protest.

The room where I was traded off was hot and stuffy. A blanket was spread on the grubby, linoleum floor, and my chubby, two-year-old self was told to have a sleep.

“Sh, sh, go to sleep.”

The voice faded away as its owner retreated from the kitchen………

Though my father and mother foresake me…(Psalm 27:10)

This chapter is an introduction to the many times I felt abandoned as I was shuffled from one foster home to another.

 

 

If I’m Not Irish, What Am I?

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I always believed that I was Irish. I can still hear my dad singing, “When Irish Eyes are Smiling,” “Toora Loora Loora,” and my favorite song, “Galway Bay.” As a child, daydreaming about Ireland was one of my favorite pastimes. In my mind’s eye, I danced with the fairies, conversed wth the leprechauns, kissed the Blarney Stone, and watched the sun go down on Galway Bay.
In my thirty-ninth year, a phone call from my younger sister changed all that………….

“Honor your father and your mother…(Exodus 20:12)

This chapter introduces my parents, my sister, my heritage, and the second love of my life.

Tomorrow: A Feeling of Abandonment.