The Boy - a true story
The Boy
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Soft moonlight danced through the branches of the olive trees above, their leaves appeared to shiver in the gentle breeze that blew down from the Alps in the north. Any other night he would be cold, but the boy didn't feel a thing. He should feel the soil beneath his bare feet, a trace of warmth in it still from that day's mediterranean sun, but the boy didn't feel a thing. Shame should be wracking him now, outside and naked for anyone to see, but still he didn't feel a thing. He stood in a hole, his hole, the last thing he would have. The last place he would be. He sighed.
He wasn't sorry it had come to this, in a way he was glad. It would all be over for him and, with luck, his passing would be noticed. Something would finally be done and his Mum, sister and brother would be free. He smiled.
The small village I lived in
The man - his Italian step father - had been drinking. Of course he'd been drinking. Dragged out of bed by his ankle it took the boy a few confusing seconds to realise that this wasn't one of his awful dreams.
'What didn't you do?' he screamed down at the boy, cowering on the cold marble floor
'I...I don't know what...' replied the boy, racing through the list of all his given chores in his mind.
I collected wood for the stove and grass for the rabbits. I cleaned the floors, I changed the beds. My homework is laid out for inspection downstairs. What didn't I do?
'What did I say would happen the next time you forgot?'
Forgot what? The boy had no idea.
'I...I don't know' he stammered. The man's anger rose further.
'THIS!' he hissed, throwing something at the boy. It was a toothbrush.
'Wh...'
'IT'S DRY! YOU DIDN'T BRUSH YOUR TEETH!'
He had. Of course he had. He knew full well that he would check.
'But I did, it must have dried out' he tried to explain
His fury erupted 'ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR, BOY?!'
'No papá' – Papá, the Italian for father. He wasn't his father, he insisted he would be called that or there would be consequences.
'So I am right, you didn't brush your teeth?'
It was then he noticed that the toothbrush wasn't his, it was his little brother's. Since his older brother had escaped back to England to live with his dad, the boy assumed the protector role. If he could he would deflect from his younger brother and sister. He would take the beatings, the cruel punishments and the week long starvations if he could.
'No papá, I didn't brush my teeth'
'I knew it! So what will your punishment be?' he demanded.
This was another one of his cruelties. Suggest too moderate a punishment and the man would beat him for suggesting it and keep beating until he suggested a castigation of the required severity. Suggest something outlandish and he would be punished for trying to get him mad. There was no winning this game. He had been through whippings, beatings, had stones thrown at his head, humiliated, made to stand leaning up against the wall supported by just his nose for hours – beaten if he dared so much as wobble. He was strangled to the point of passing out, made to stay up throughout the night writing lines until he was so tired he began to halucinate. Starvation diets were a new punishment, weeks at end being allowed just water and the odd raw onion or turnip. The worst was when the man would grab his head and dig his thumbs into his eyes, searing pain and blindness for hours later.
At the end of his tether he blurted it out, he didn't care any longer. This could not go on.
'Just kill me' he said softly.
The olive grove to the side of the house
The man was taken aback. A look of bewilderment crossed his face as he tried to make sense of the scrawny little ten year old boy lying at his feet. Believing it to be a bluff he replied.
'Alright, if that's what you want. Get up.'
The boy slowly rose, head down. Let it be quick, let it be finally over. A smirk raised the corner of his mouth, thinking the boy was playing some warped game. He went along with it.
'Outside, I don't want a mess in the house'
Barefoot the boy padded out of his bedroom and down the stairs, across the cold marble floor towards the front door. As he reached to open it he was stopped.
'Wait, if you are going to die tonight you will leave this world the same way you came into it. Take off your clothes'
Without hesitation the boy disrobed, even now taking the time to fold his pyjamas tidily before placing them on the table. His thoughts turned to his mother, still slaving away at the restaurant in the next village over. How would she react? God, I hope she won't be mad with me.
Near - the restaurant my mother worked in and in the distance my school
'Go'
The cool breeze met his naked form as he stepped outside. It was late, there was nobody in the small village square – for which he was thankful. The man told him to turn left and walk behind the house where the nearest olive grove stood, meanwhile he grabbed a shovel from the side of the house.
'Alright, stop there. I am not going to dig your grave, you do it'
He threw the shovel at the boy, narrowly missing his bare foot. The boy picked it up and slowly started to dig his own grave.
Photo Source - Other photos courtesy of Google Maps
If you hear of or witness any abuse, don't wait for somebody else to do something about it. YOU have that power. Use it.
A very gripping narrative, it's a story that must have been very difficult to write.
I admire your willingness to protect your siblings too.
Very glad you spoke out and told your story, the more people that do, the more others are willing to say when it is happening to them.
It was immensely hard to write, I have been sitting on this for a few years. Feels cathartic to get it out there.
Thanks you for your kind words
I'm not going to like this story, I just can not like this story.
Sorry.
I will share it, because of the message "STOP CHILD ABUSE"
I understand, it was tough to write
Thanks for sharing
Sorry man, mi dispiace molto, tu sei mi amico d'Italia.
(non parlo molto, un po, perche ho studiato in piccolo scuola)
Ciao
Hey, I don't speak much anymore, although I understood what you have written. I am English but lived there for 4 years from 9 to 13
Thank you for your kind reply
You show courage my friend,just by sharing this story.
Thank you
Thanks and bless you for showing courage to share this story here...success to you
Thank you
Welcome, and keep up the good work
Very eloquently written and heartfelt.
Thanks for sharing
I've had some rough times as a child and instead of repeating the cycle, it helped me to become a great parent
I let it shape me into me. I will not let the pattern repeat itself
Thank you for your kind comments
You were and are very brave. You will find a way to instill this bravery into your children. Teaching bravery is more difficult when we actually feel terrified but you will find a way.
I hope you see the bravery of the boy you were and of the man and father you are. You chose to stand for your brother who couldn't, you are choosing to stand now for those who can't, and you are clearly defining and facing your parenting challenges.
Keep being honest (a side trait of bravery) and you'll get through your parenting improvements and self-improvements.
A word of caution about being over protective. Being raised by an over protective mother and grandmother also filled me full of fears. It is the normal irony of the pendulum swinging between extremes.
It has taken generations of work to begin to overcome the damage that was done to my grandmother. I think it would have helped me to know the why instead of being left to believe her irrational fears were somehow just a normal part of who she was.
Until I was in my late 50s I thought that my grandmother's fearful pattern was a part of her DNA. Inherited and possibly my inheritance.
When I understood the why, it totally changed all my perspectives to realize I never knew who she should have been. At the same time, I found out that she had given me a few glimpses of who she should have been that she had not ever even told my mom.
I don't know that it would have changed my childhood, but I wonder how it would have changed my adulthood and even my relationship with her, if I had known she was deeply hurt and wounded.
So, stay honest because it gives your family and friends the ability to look for you, the real you. The real you that you even miss ;-)
I am brokenhearted this is your story and still the story of many today.
I'm praying for strength and healing for you and them and I am praying that they are discovered quickly by brave people who take action.
PS I am honored that you trusted us to know you so .... real. And I had another post disappear into the ethers. If it reappears just add magically, you know why ;-)
Wow, thank you so much. I am literally welling up reading this. It has been 37 years but feels as raw today as though it was yesterday. I hope that by putting it out there it will give me some relief and also help others to come to terms with the terrible things done to them. Thank you so much for your comment, it really means a lot. So sorry to hear of your past and hope you have healed. I pray you have
Well. It is tempting to brush it all aside and say, "Thank you. Sure, I'm fine." And by most standards I am. It is always a short trip to de-Nile (bad T-shirt joke. "I live by de Nile" over Egyption scene with the Nile River. It was an 80's thing)
It's tempting to ... but loss is loss and pain is pain and patterns are patterns ... Ultimately, we are all healing until the day we die. It is a daily decision to face forward.
Thank you for your prayers.
I totally understand what you mean. It's always there and always will be, however much we try to hide behind a mask of smiles. This post today was hopefully the first step on my path to letting it not rule the rest of my life.
One step at a time.
This is true. In time, though, more of the smiles become real and genuine out of genuine happiness. This I learned when my first marriage went all to shards.
You have made an excellent first step. Shame lives in the darkness and runs from the light. You're breaking bindings today!
Really heartrending. It should not be that anyone experiences this, from the depths of my soul I wish you had not. I, like you, experienced deep levels of abuse growing up and as apposed to repeating the cycle stepped away from violence and become a parent and an advocate. I applaud your courage and want you to know that for what its worth I understand and recognize how hard your path has been, bravo! Thank you so much for sharing this, it could not have been easy. Much love to you!
Thank you for your understanding. It was tough but feel better for getting it out there. True evil does exist in this world but we must stand against it and not let it shape the people we become.
Couldn't agree more, it is hard to stand up but so very nessasary. Your lovely, and a inspiration! Big hugs!!:-)
Oh blush. Thank you!
Thank you for having the courage to share that beautiful story. We all have past lives we are working through, me too.
Thank you for your kind words
Quite a traumatic childhood you had. I don't comprehend what makes men like your stepfather do what they do. I'm not sure if it's love of domination or extreme evil. I'm gladdened to hear that your childhood experiences have made you a loving father rather than the opposite. So many abused children go on to be abusers themselves.
Extremely well written. What a brave story to write.
Thank you for your kind comments
This hit me hard. While I didn't have the experience to your severity, I went though some things of my own. I know words can never heal in the way we want them to, so I can't offer anything more than a thank you for writing this. We can hope that this post can save or help just one kid.
I hope so too.
Yesterday was a dark day for me but glad I got it out there.
Thanks for the kind thoughts