Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [37]
Chances are Daddy wasn’t mad about Rhonda getting out of bed or the Listerine bottle being broken or the lipstick on the sheets. Chances were better that Daddy was shamed by having to sneak into his own home at night to avoid the landlord. Or that Daddy was mad because he hadn’t hit a number in months. Or that he was frustrated by having to be so careful writing numbers because he was on probation and didn’t want to go back to jail. Whatever the underlying reason, Daddy was on his way down the hall, enraged, and needing to take it out on someone, anyone. Lipstick on the clean white sheets and broken glass on the black-and-white tile bathroom floor gave him an excellent excuse to take out all of his rage, his fury and frustration, on his eight-year-old daughter.
Rhonda tried to escape Daddy’s grasp by running back to her bed and hiding under the covers. He came and got her.
There are spankings, there are whippings, and there are beatings. The beating Rhonda received that night at the hands of her father was the talk of the neighborhood for weeks. The beating Rhonda received that night resulted in her lying senseless in the bathtub.
It is not unusual for an angry adult to take their frustration and anger out on a child. It is not right, and the child is usually unaware that this is what is going on, but it happens all of the time. Adults who feel powerless, who feel they are at the end of their ropes, will strike out against the one thing or person they believe they can exercise power over. It doesn’t make them feel better, and if they really hurt the child, it will make them feel worse. In the process, the child who is being used as a punching bag, or an ashtray, is trying to figure out just what they did to enrage the adult. There is no plausible explanation. The adult can profess to be sorry, promise never to do it again, but it doesn’t matter. The child is wounded, sometimes physically. And in all cases emotionally and spiritually.
Rhonda’s father became even angrier when his wife tried to pull the child he was beating—his child—away from him. He became angrier still when he saw his son standing in the closet, staring at him in horror, and knew he was powerless to change the image of himself he saw forming in his son’s eyes. Daddy’s sense of powerlessness led to such frustration that he continued to beat Rhonda until his unbelted pants fell down. Despite the fact that the pants around his ankles made it hard for him to move, he continued to beat the child until she had slumped to the floor unconscious.
Her eyes were shut. Her lips were swollen. Her nightgown was torn. Her arms, legs, back, and face were covered with large welts and streaks of blood. Somehow, as Daddy had become more and more exhausted, Nett had managed to pull Rhonda away from him. She dragged her into the bathroom and locked the door. Nett filled the tub and placed Rhonda in the warm water. She left her only for a moment to speak with the police, who had been called by a neighbor. When Nett returned to the bathroom, Rhonda was regaining consciousness. She didn’t cry; she just grabbed on to Nett and held on for her life. Rhonda always felt that Nett was her only chance in life. Tonight, she knew it for sure. Nett rocked and rubbed and consoled the battered child, then whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you listen? Your Daddy loves you, but you must learn to listen!”
Rhonda learned a powerful lesson that night. Frustrated, angry people will hurt you. And if you don’t do what angry people want you to do, then they will hurt you very badly, and it will be your fault.
Something had to be done. And when something has to be done about the way you are living, children must be the first consideration. The marshal was coming within the next seventy-two hours to put Rhonda’s family out on the street. Nett hadn’t seen her husband in three days. She needed help, and that evening, when