Chapter 2. Hidden Violence

While my mum was battling cancer she was in and out of the hospital and wasn’t home some nights. Unfortunately, my dad was not the happy and loveable father most people would consider to be a dad and I honestly cannot remember a happy memory with him. I’ve tried to think and think of a time where I was with him spending quality father and daughter time and there is just nothing. During my childhood I was subjected to what many may believe as parenting or discipline, however, it was much more than this. A casual smack on the bottom for doing something wrong is understandable but hidings with wooden spoons and other objects for no particular reason is taking it to the extreme.

I have so many memories of times I was hit and violently bruised. I remember his intimidating face expressions and chilling voice. I remember the terrified little girl hiding in closets, under beds and also climbing out the window and running to my grandparents (mums parents) who lived next door. Now as I look back on why I would get hit, it all seems so ridiculous. I remember getting hidings for not finishing what was on my plate or being forced to eat until I vomited, I got hidings for dropping a glass accidentally when I was drying dishes, for eating chips, chocolate or ice-cream that was supposedly only his, for arguing with my siblings, for changing the channel when he was recording something, for not doing chores fast enough, for not coming straight home, for going to a friends house down the road, there were so many reasons but the reasons were just excuses to take his anger out on a little-frightened child. My dad had it out for me and my sister and I both knew it. He would slap me around the head and kick me at times for no apparent reason. My sister and I would take hidings for each other and we would take smacks for my younger siblings. My sister and I would blame everything on ourselves and makeup stories if the kids did something wrong to make sure they didn’t get hurt. My sister and I were terrified of our dad.

The first memory of my dad taking a discipline of some sort to the extreme was around the age of 6. My sister who was 10 at the time and myself, were doing the dishes after dinner. My mum wasn't home and my dad had a friend around and they were sitting in the living room. My sister and I were taking our time doing the dishes and singing and dancing to a CD, we were having a blast for over an hour and of a sudden I just remember the door swinging open, the CD player plug being yanked out, My dad yelling and then out of nowhere, he grabbed my sisters head by her hair and then grabbed mine and slammed our heads together. What happened straight after then is still blank, I think we were both stunned and feared not to say a word until he left the kitchen. Soon after, my sister and I climbed out the window of the kitchen and ran to my grandparent’s house and told them what happened. My grandparents were boiling with fury and we just waited with them until mum finished work and picked us up. When my mum walked in I remember the look of confusion on her face and then as my grandparents began to tell my mum what happened I remember her becoming over emotional and distraught, mum continued to check on us to see if we were okay and then after awhile we headed back home. By this time my mum was fuming with anger towards my dad. When we walked inside the house hiding behind mum, I remember the frightening stare my dad gave us. That night my sister and I slept side by side listening to my parents yelling and arguing with each other about what happened.

After my mum battled cancer, my family and I moved from our home in Dunedin and lived in Timaru. My dad decided to buy a café that was connected to a house in a rural area. My mum worked full time, leaving early in the morning and returning late at night. My dad’s café began to go down hill and he began to run out of money so mum ended up working longer shifts and weekends. Since our house was connected to the café, my siblings and I were always with my dad. Our father was very stingy and would never give us any form of ice-cream, biscuit or junk food but instead eat it in front of us all the time. One night when i was 10, My sister and I ate some lollies and chocolate after the café was closed however I was the only one he caught in the act. I remember running to my room and hiding under my bed terrified. I remember his heavy steps echoing through the hallway and the creek of the door opening as I literally was trembling in fear. He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me from under the bed, I was unable to cry or speak, as I knew what was about to happen. He then dragged me into the wide kitchen of the café and threw me on the ground. He then searched in the drawer and found a wooden spoon hitting me until it broke, then he reached for another wooden spoon whacking me on the back, bottom and legs until that broke, then lastly he grabbed a metal spoon hitting me and hitting me until he was satisfied. I remember just falling in pain unable to cry, knowing if I did he would only hit me more. I just laid there shaking and sobbing with tears falling from my face. When I finally went to stand... I can still remember... the aching and stinging pain. I went to my sister’s room and she was on her bed crying for me. She held me and told me sorry over and over again and that everything would be okay.

Since that day I have resented him as my father completely. Unfortunately, we hid this from my mum and she didn’t know what was going on because it was easy to hide it from her, my sister and I believed that if she were to find out that we would only get bigger hidings the next day when she went to work. It was easy to pretend that everything was okay when our mum was around because we loved spending time with her, so when we were with her it became easy to forget what happened within the walls of our home when she wasn't there.