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My small hands would not fit between crack in the door so that I could open it and be set free. The darkness of the closet grabbed me and refused to let go. I only needed to go to the bathroom and that was not to much to ask, was it? I could no longer keep up with the number of hours I had been in this tiny room. I only knew that the light in the crack of the doorway was getting dimmer and my bladder was getting fuller. At last, I could hold it no longer and the liquid was warm as it ran down my leg and onto the floor. I knew I would pay dearly for this mistake, I always did.

Life in my house was hell to say the least, but it was all I knew, and, all I had. I did not expect to receive hugs, or new things. I did not expect to be talked to kindly and I certainly did not expect to be told that I was loved. However, my perception of parenthood, I assumed was not only true for myself, but also for my friends. The only difference was I was not allowed to have company or go to visit my friend's homes. Other than this I expected that everyone else's home was as crummy as mine. Now, of course I know that this was not the case, and that my family was an exception and a disaster. I chuckle at these words now because time has sealed some of the pain I experienced during this period of my life. I remember feeling sorry for my mother because I knew she had a hard decision to make. In my mind that decision was as she chose, him, of course. I would think to myself that If I were in her situation I would probably do the same thing she did.

Now, I am sure everyone is wondering about my mother. The cold fact is, she did nothing. Oh, I forgot, she did watch. I will never forget the look on her face as she watched my father beat me. Can you believe, that I felt sorry for her?

Children are exceptionally perceptive, and even more resilient. I knew that my mother was in a hard spot, and I also knew that I would not want to be where she was. What I did not know, however, was that she should have taken care of me regardless. Fortunately, I know this now.

As I gazed upon the face of my unborn child through the eyes of a machine I was overcome with emotions that I had never experienced before. I loved this alien inside me and I was amazed that soon that alien would be walking around. The change was taking place and motherhood was sculpting me into an artist of love.

When my child was born I celebrated the fact that no experience that I had had, or would ever have, would come close to the revelry I felt now. As I held him in my arms I cried, because I avowed that I could never treat this baby as I was treated. If you remember, I said earlier, that I felt sorry for my mother because of the choice she had to make. I knew, had she stepped forward to help me, or had she left, her consequence would have been arduous. To this, I had accepted the only option she had had, was to watch. What I learned as my child opened his eyes and looked at me was that there could NEVER be an option. I acknowleged that I would protect this child at all cost, even my life. I learned an important lesson with the birth of my child, but refreshingly, I became a new person. I became a kinder person with a reason to be happy.

As I look back now, some fifteen years later I am loathed at the way my parents treated me. I know that I will afford my child every luxury that I did not receive. More importantly, however, I will love my child with every touch and every word.

Learn more about this author, Jennifer Smith.
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