Jesus Loves The Little Children....

It’s not important that I forget exact dates of some of the most life altering moments of my life. I can still look back to the event where I know without a doubt that God is real. I thought it was going to be just another weekend filled with alcohol and fights, like so many before. A weekend of mama and the monster getting drunk and pounding on each other and she pounding on me. In my minds eye I can still see the dumpy little back alley basement apartment right outside of Chicago we called home. It was small and cramped and offered very little in the way of escape when the fights would begin. On this particular night, mama, my little sister and me were sitting at the kitchen table. Mama was peeling and dicing potatoes. My baby sister, Anne, was sitting on the edge of the table eating white bread spread with butter and sprinkled with sugar, her favorite. She is inappropriately dressed for the middle of winter, with a blizzard on the way, in a tee and underwear. I can recall so clearly how they looked on this night. Anne, so tiny for a three year old, barely twenty pounds. Her hair has yet to be combed even though it is after five in the evening. Her big doe brown eyes showing no hint of awareness of the drama to come. Mama has already started drinking, preparing herself for what she knows is inevitable….the monster’s arrival. She was once a beautiful woman, I’ve seen pictures. Now she looks so tired and old even though she is only 32. Her once straight nose bent and bumpy from the many times its been broken. Her once vibrant green eyes and creamy complexion dulled and marred from the years of drug, alcohol and physical abuse. Her long black hair arranged to hide the shiny bald spots acquired when she was dragged through the house by the monster in a recent drunken brawl. But, what I recall most are her hands. They are hands that inflict pain. Hands I try to avoid. So, I am sitting at the table watching her peel those potatoes when the monster comes through the door, followed by the stench of alcohol and stale cigarettes. He has spent the hours between getting off work and the present at the corner tavern. Now that I am an adult I realize he wasn’t a big man. But, as a child he appeared to be a giant. A huge, loud, scary, red haired monster who lived to torture and terrorize his wife and step children. On this night he stumbles in throwing out insults and threats to mama. She sits there in silence, peeling. This angers the monster even more. He opens the refrigerator and takes a can of beer, we may not have had much food but we always had beer. He pops the top and takes a long pull throwing out another insult. No reaction from his target. He steps towards her raising his beer and swings at her head. The rim of the can catches her across the brow, she grasps the edge of the table to keep herself from tumbling out of the chair. The knife falls into the bowl of diced potatoes followed by a spray of bright red blood. I have snatched Anne off the table, trying to be very small and unnoticeable. We stare as the monster stumbles in to the living room to pass out on the couch. We watch mama, trying to take cues as to what to do. Is it time to run? Mama never utters a word, she gets up and puts water on the stove to boil. She sits back down, picks up the knife and continues to peel potatoes. The blood is pouring from the cut into her eye, she occasionally wipes it away with the back of her hand, dripping it into the potatoes I am now hoping she won’t feed us. It is so quiet now. And silence scares me. I watch her every move as she gets up from the table to take the pot of boiling water from the stove. But, instead of putting the potatoes in the water, she walks the short distance to the living room where the monster is sleeping on the couch and tosses the entire pot on his head and chest. Time goes into slow motion. The monster propels off the couch, stumbling into the rickety table holding the television, knocking it to the floor. He is bawling in pain and rage. His blistered skin bubbling and peeling. Mama has turned to run out the door at the same time I have grabbed Anne’s small hand dragging her into the knee deep snow drifts in the alley. We must get away from the raging bull. Mama runs to the right and I take Anne with me to the left. The monster is now lurching down the alley after mama, and he has the bloody potato knife in his hand. I see him descend on her like an animal in the wild capturing it’s prey. I cannot watch and I don’t want Anne to see the horror that I am sure is about to occur. My only thought is to get to safety. Safety will be at my aunt Olive’s house just one street over. We just have to make it there and everything will be ok. Anne is starting to shiver from the cold wet snow and razor sharp wind assaulting her small improperly clothed body. I, at least, had on pants and shoes, offering me more protection from the harsh elements. After what seemed like hours of trudging we make it to Olive’s. I pound on the door, praying she hasn’t gone to bed, it’s still early. No answer! Where is she? I need her! We need her! It has always been understood that in the event of an emergency, I am to get Anne and come to her house, no where else. What do I do now? I start to panic. But, I can’t, I have to be strong for Anne. I am all she has. I am only eight years old but survival instincts kick in and I know the first thing I have to do is get shelter. We are standing on the front stairs and I realize there is a space under them, just enough room for two little bodies to hide. I pull away the snow that has drifted into the opening and push Anne into the dark void. The dirt under there is surprisingly dry and soft, not frozen like everything else this time of year and in these conditions. I have to protect Anne’s shivering body and provide her with warmth. I dig a hole in the soft earth and place Anne in the hole. I sit behind her, wrapping my arms and legs around her little body. She is so good, so knowing. She is only three and throughout the whole nightmare she has not cried or complained and she just seems to know to be quiet so we won’t be found. We now have protection from the snow and wind. My mind drifts to what is happening one street over. Where is mama? Did he kill her? Is he coming after us? Did I just see someone walking up the street or is it just the eerie shadows being cast by the street lights? Will the aunt come home before the monster finds us? It is so quiet. Before long, we both fall asleep. But the reprieve doesn’t last long. I hear footsteps crunching in the ice covered by the soft snow. All of my senses are acutely alive. The shadows are now moving up the street towards our shelter. It is the monster! He has found us. He appears to have sobered either from the pain or the cold because his walk is steady and purposeful as heads our way. He climbs the stairs and knocks on the door. Just inches from our heads, I fear he will see or hear us breathing, I bury my face in Anne’s soft baby fine hair. The monster descends the stairs and walks back into the shadows of the night. Relief floods my soul. We still have a chance. But, where is mama? Why was it the monster that came looking for us? Once again, we fall into exhausted slumber only to be awakened an indeterminate amount of time later by the arrival of Olive. She and my uncle had been out for the evening and it took several hours to make it home due to the blizzard. Watching my aunt’s reaction as we climbed from under her front stairs like troll’s under a bridge would’ve been hilarious if the situation hadn’t been so tragic. It was now midnight. We had been out in the elements for almost six hours. Anne, in just underwear and a tee. Me, luckily with at least shoes and pants. How was this possible? Of course, I didn’t know it then but I now know it was the divine power of God Himself orchestrating our survival. He sent His Son to wrap us in His warm loving arms, protecting us from the blizzard. He sent His Holy Spirit to calm and comfort us with peace that allowed us to slumber through most of the ordeal. You may be wondering what happened to mama and the monster. Well, when he was chasing her down the alley he was slashing at her back with the bloody potato knife, luckily causing just superficial wounds. When they fell to the ground he lost the knife. He beat her with his fists, breaking her nose (again), her eye socket and jaw. He choked her, bruising her trachea. The only thing that saved her was the neighbors that heard her screams called the police. The monster fled into the night when he heard the sirens. He walked around the neighborhood for hours before he was finally picked up by the police and taken to jail. Mama was in the hospital for two weeks. When asked to press charges against the monster, she refused. I think he received probation….like so many times before. I just know that when she came home from the hospital, he came home from jail. She stayed with him four more years, until her death in 1969. I asked her one time, after a particularly brutal beating, why? Why don‘t we leave? She looked at me through the only eye she could see out of, with blood trickling from her broken nose and busted lips and said, “Because I love him”.