I sat on a phone book at the dinner table, surrounded by my two brothers, my parents and more than half a dozen foster kids. Dinner consisted of stuffed green peppers, a food I had a strong aversion towards.
I suppose, even at three and a half, I knew the rules. I wasn't allowed to show any signs of disliking food. I tried to eat the green pepper but an involuntary shudder emanated from my core, giving me away.
The punishment for showing dislike was to be served double, forced to eat It without reaction, or I'd get more, and then getting a licking with the belt.
My mom smuggly placed another whole green pepper filled with beef, declaring that that's what I get for my reaction.
One by one, everyone left the table and disappeared. I sat there alone, my parents angrily threatening me, watching me to see if I flinched or gagged or shuddered. I had to finish it all without any other expression of dislike, or else.
I knew i couldnt do it. My tummy was already full from the first one, and now i had more. I remember feeling so afraid. I couldn't stop what was coming. I froze, unable to move. If I let on any expression I'd get a licking, it was coming no matter what. My parents attention was all on me, as both of then angrily coaxed me to try to eat without expression, threatening again and again that my licking was coming.
I wanted to obey. I tried, I tried desperately to eat, but the flavor of the green pepper turned my stomach. My mouth was full, but I couldnt swallow, as if it was stuck. I panicked, I tried but I couldn't swallow. They angrily yelled at me, making me more and more afraid.
Finally in a rage my mom grabbed me off the phone book that served as a booster seat. My dad took off his belt and put me over his knee, pulled my pants off and began lashing me with the belt.
It felt like searing fire across my legs and bottom that kept burning fiercer with each blow.
I didn't want to be so bad, I wanted to make them happy but this daily ritual of being spanked was evidence that I was horrible.
Following the fierce belting, I was firmly commanded to go to bed. My bottom and legs stung making me want to crumble into a heap. I crawled wimpering up the spiral staircase. I recall my mom yelling at me to hurry up.
I don't know how but as I turned to look at her, from the spiral near the top, I suddenly lost my balance. I felt myself falling as I tumbled down the long flight of stairs, landing at my parents feet.
My body hurt. I couldn't put weight on my leg without searing pain. This made them even angrier. My mom accused me of trying to get out of going to bed. She always thought I was bad it seemed.
Moments later, she had a wooden spoon in hand. She grabbed me from behind and began wholloping me, "to teach me a lesson I wouldn't soon forget", she promised.
I remember trying desperately climb the stairs after the second beating, my whole body hurting, tears running down my face. My back side burning fiercly. I didn't look back, I crawled obediently , painfully into bed.
The next morning my mom angrily stormed into my room. " why aren't you up and getting your Sunday clothes on." I couldn't speak. I stared at her mutely afraid to answer. She pulled back the covers and told me to get up now "or else."
Glancing down i saw that my leg was black and blue, my ribs were bruised and a giant purple bruise covered my shoulder almost to my elbow. My mom pulled me off the bottom bunk, but as I tried to put weight on the bruised leg, I gasped in pain, hot tears pouring down my face. "I can't,"I cried.
The next thing I remember was being at a hospital or clinic. My mom acted strangely happy, speaking to the doctor in a sing-song kind of voice that seemed foreign . She explained to the doctor that I was jumping on the top bunk and fell off, landing on my toys.
I didn't understand. I didn't remember that. The Dr was kind and told me no more jumping on the top bunk. Ex-rays proved that my ankle was broken, and a piece of bone was chipped off completely. He said there wasn't a fix for that. But I'd need to wear a cast and be on crutches to heal the other break.
We left the hospital and mom was mad again. She said we couldn't go to our church because of what I'd done. I didn't understand what I had done but Ifelt bad for making her so angry.
We went to a strange church. Not our own. I was on crutches. I was supposed to say I'd been bad and fell of the bed. I didn't want to say anything at all. We arrived more than half way through, making me feel embarrassed as I entered the Sunday school. I thought I was bad, for making us late. And I was certain God thought I was too.
On the classroom wall there was a chart, with stars beside the kids names. I stared at the chart, wishing I had my name on a chart. But I remember thinking that bad girls like me wouldn't get stars anyhow.
I didn't get to go back to my own church until my cast came off.
