by Barbara Fisher

Created on: May 21, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

"People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them." - George Bernard Shaw - -

I Really am Someone Special

While many people sit back and recall the memories of their childhood, I do everything possible to forget mine. While I'm sure there had to be some very special times, most of the joy was clouded by the image of living with my father. He was a very sick, selfish man who made life hell for all of us. My mom always blamed his mental problems on his being overseas during World War II. But the side of dad I saw most often was caused from him being an alcoholic.

While my classmates were counting the days until Christmas, I was praying my family could somehow make it through another major uproar. Since holiday parties always included alcohol, these were the worst of times. Back then it was common to keep everything quiet. You went to school and acted normal. You went to Sunday mass as a family, carrying all the sadness and fear somewhere inside. I remember people referring to us as the "model" family. Little did they know that this model was falling apart into a million little pieces.

Although my mother bore the brunt of my father's rage, my sister and I were close seconds. I still shake today, thinking back to the nights when we lay in our beds and listened while dad used mom for a punching bag. He would rant and rage and call her profane names. Then there was a crash followed by and mom's screams as she would hit the floor. Sometimes I'd sneak into my little brother's room, and we would cuddle together under the blankets, crying ourselves to sleep. I can remember dad hitting my mom over the head with a beer bottle, and another time belting her with a garden hoe. I'll never forget the day when he beat her until she miscarried in front of me. We were instructed not to tell anyone.

As we grew older, my father started playing the dating game with my older sister. He carried her picture in his wallet, claiming that he was in love with her. He went insane if any boys looked at her. He showed her picture to me, and told me I would never be pretty like she was. I loved her so I didn't mind the comparison.

My mother worked nights. As soon as she left for work, dad made my brother and me go to bed. He wanted to spend the night alone with my sister. She was a senior at the time, and

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