My Father Beats Me Everyday

When I turned six years old my Parents finally had saved enough money to move out of my uncle's home.  My Mother was about to give birth to my baby brother.  He's arrival signified a new beginning for the family.  He came to fill the space that the death of my little brother had left.  Life seemed to be getting better for all.  For me, it meant moving away from my cousin and also changing schools.  I did not have to see the men in my life that were sexually abusing me anymore!

My Mother worked in a factory that made women bathing suits during the day, and Dad worked at night unloading trucks at a furniture company.  As luck will have it, Dad hurt his back and had to go on disability.  The money that Mom was making was not enough, so we had to go on welfare to survive.  I guess this made my Father extremely depressed.  My Parents fought all the time.  Dad was always mad at everything and everyone including me at times.

One night while visiting my uncle, I remember all the men sitting out in the garage around a table playing cards.  I was standing around watching.  My cousin picks me up and sits me on his lap.  He begins to touch me under the table and puts my hand on his crotch.  Then I think my Father must have seen me, because the next thing I remember was being pulled by my hair and dragged outside.  He's screaming at me "Fagot, I knew it! I knew you were a fag.  You act like one, you talk like one, and now you're embarrassing me in front of my friends and family"  He slapped and kicked me over and over, so much that everyone had to come out and ask him to stop.  I didn't know why this was happening.  I was just six years old.

My life was never the same.  Dad seemed to enjoy bullying me and calling me names.  Anytime I was happy or in a good mood, he'd say that I acted like a fag and would slap me and beat me.  Every time we left the house he would warn me that if I acted like a girl out in public, that he would beat me.  Most times than not he always did.  I had to endure the beatings, but also endure the harmful words he would tell me.  He'd say that I was not the son he wanted.  That he wanted a boy not a girl and that I was a disgraced to the family.  I was so scared to go out with him, that when we were out I'd soil myself.  On many occasions we had to leave my soiled clothes at public restrooms or people's homes.  I was afraid of my Father!

Everyday he would make me practice talking like a man.  Everyday he would tell me how ashamed he was of me that I was not "normal"  I bagan to feel ashamed of myself.

By the time I had started first grade, I had been raped, molested, abused by my own uncles, aunts, cousins, and my school principal.  Wasn't this enough?!  And now, my Father was beating me and bullying me.  I felt worthless!