A Child’s Life: Eight Years Old and in the Depths of the Pit

Sometimes our parents teach us what NOT to be, without saying a word.

I was six when my parents divorced and my mother went to work outside the home.

My older brother, my hero, left home two years later – when I turned eight.

This is a day in the life of my eight-year-old self.


I wake in a panic to shut off the alarm of the clock radio.  Groggy, I rub my eyes as I sit on the side of my bed. The beast at my feet whimpers to let me know he has to go out.  While he is out back I open a can of Strongheart and scrape the contents into his bowl. He comes back in and wags his tail as he begins to gobble down his breakfast.

Opening my closet door I reach to pull the string that lights the solitary bulb – in a sleepy daze I bend to pick a worn dress off the closet floor. I give it a quick snap in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles.  My dog has finished his breakfast and is stretching in my doorway as I dress for school. He follows me down the hall into the bathroom as I make a half-hearted attempt to smooth out my unruly hair with hairbrush bristles that are too soft to get through the thickness.  In a rush, I slip on my socks and shoes, grab my sweater and head back to the kitchen to get the 35 cents for my lunch from the change jar.  As I step out the front door, I whisper to my faithful companion, “I will see you after school buddy”, being careful not to wake my mother, I quietly close the door.

My dog watches me from the window as I cross the lawn to Billy’s house.  I knock on their front door.  Billy’s mom is expecting me, I step inside to the aroma of bacon and burnt toast.  Dropping my sweater to my elbows I turn so she can fasten the buttons on the back of my dress – she pats my shoulder, that is my queue that I am all buttoned up and I can put my sweater back on – as I turn to face her we exchange a warm smile.  I thank her and walk out to the bus stop.  Billy comes out a minute later as the bus is rounding the corner.

At the end of the school day, we hop off the bus as we say goodbye to the grandfatherly driver.  Billy races up his drive and is greeted by his mom’s beaming smile.  I can see that she is happy to see him.  He races past her as she stands to hold the door for me.  Again, I lower my sweater from my shoulders and turn.  This time so she can unbutton my dress before I head home.

Upon entering my house, I am greeted by my faithful dog, who is bigger than me.  After some ear scratching, I let him out. Then I change out of my school clothes into a pair of navy corduroys and a tee-shirt.  Letting the dog back in, I throw his ball down the hall for him to chase until he decides it is more fun to lay down and chew on it.  Then I get the jacks and position myself on the floor with my feet against the kitchen cabinets so the jacks and the ball are trapped by my legs.  My first round is easy, Onesies, then Twosies – quickly I finish with Tensies – there is no challenge to this game anymore, but I finish each round and play again and again.

Bored with my game of jacks, I go to the picture window.  I can tell by the haze of cigarette smoke that my mother was home all morning.  The smoke hangs in multiple layers as the sunlight beams through the window – I promise myself to never smoke.  Out the window, I see Billy and the other kids riding their bikes in the street out front.  They wave to me as they struggle to not crash into each other while doing figure eights.

I need special permission to go outside.  She says she could get into trouble if anyone found out I was home alone.  I think it has something to do with the money she gets from dad.

I know where she is and I know the number by heart.

I dial the phone to ask if I can go out front and ride my bike.

When the man answers I ask for her by name – I hear him set the phone on the counter.

He tells her that her daughter is on the phone asking for her.

Then I hear my mother’s voice,

“Tell her I am not here.”

He picks up the phone and tells me what she has instructed him to say.

As I hang up, I weigh the possibility of getting caught if I were to go outside.

I ask myself, how would she know? – but this day I choose to follow her rules.

So I stay hidden in the depths of this smokey pit.

One day soon I will come to realize that the punishment for going outdoors is much less painful than waiting for these days to slowly tick by.

I tell myself outloud, “Maybe tomorrow.”

I flip on the tv and open the cabinets in search of dinner.  Opening a can of mushroom soup, I grab a spoon and start eating.  I am no longer allowed to use the stove after I blackened the tines of a fork roasting a hotdog over the gas flame.

I finish the evening in the glow of the tv and looking at some books.  But I cannot help going from window to window to see what I am missing. When the sun goes down, I tuck myself into bed.

I struggle to stay awake, then, after midnight, I hear her car pull into the driveway… her car door slams shut. My heart begins to pound as her keys fumble with the lock, my dog’s low growl assures me he is at my bedside.

Once inside she finds her way into the kitchen, I can tell by her mumbling and the slamming of cabinet doors that she has had a bad day.  After several minutes, her footsteps come down the hall and she flips on my bedroom light, my dog is immediately on his feet.  I pretend to be asleep – praying that tonight she will leave me alone. My room goes dark again. The sound of her footsteps fade as she enters her bedroom down the hall.

I hear the air escape her lungs as she falls into her mattress.

Taking a deep breath of relief, I look at my clock radio and do the math – I have another six hours and twenty minutes to remain behind these doors until my daily escape to the bus stop.

***

After reading this you should have a clearer understanding of my undying love for an alert dog at my side, my passion for the great outdoors, and for the 52 doors and windows that stand wide open in our home.

 

This is a different post than usual.

 

I have learned that we need to be reminded of the bad times

in order to appreciate the good.

This helps keep life in the proper perspective.

 

*****

Please share this site with your family and friends!

Subscribe to get our email sent to your inbox so you never miss a post.

All photos, thoughts, experiences, and opinions are my own.

Copyright © Lost Mule Lodge 2018 All Rights Reserved

 

31 Comments

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Pat – Comparatively speaking, there are lots of kids who have it much tougher than I did. What I went through was fairly short-lived and actually made me appreciate what I am today.
      Thank you again for following my blog, I really appreciate it.
      tp

  1. George Peters

    The hard times and challenges we face can sometimes make you stronger as you resolve to break with what you have been taught. Teresa is is proof of this – the strongest person I know with a passion for justice. I have been blessed to have her at my side these last 45 plus years. Her Valentine – George

  2. Ban

    This is a very brave post. Beautifully written. An example of how history doesn’t repeat itself. U definitely were the best mom for ur kids. you were a very present parent, their strongest advocate with warm bacon every morning on top.
    Xxx
    Love,
    Ban

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Thank you Ban – You are right about it being a very brave post. I am still not sure if I did the right thing by putting it out there, but I cannot pull it back now!
      Your words are precious to me,
      I am proud that I was able to break the chain of abuse, but God blessed me with a couple of really good kids to make it easier.
      It warms my heart to see the parents they are today. Please see that Baron reads it – he may not know the extent of my circumstances.
      Love, momma T

  3. Maddy

    Thankyou Teresa for putting your heart out there. I love how you ended with thats why you have lots of windows that are always open….and your love for your 4 legged faithful ” buddies ” ……life does have a way of turning the ” not so plesant” into ” a little bit of heaven on earth”…….

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Ahhh, My Maddy… Your words are precious to me. I would not change a thing. My love of dogs, the outdoors, and how NOT to parent was all learned from those times. Our history is what makes us who we are.
      Thank you so much for your kind words – and for cheering me on.
      tp

  4. Mary Kay

    That saying “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” comes into my head when reading this…but not in the positive manner I’m sure was intended by the writer…an eight year old child should not be put to that kind of test.

    To know your story, and to know you as you are today, is to know one amazing woman, mother and friend. You CRUSHED that chain…
    Love you TP!

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      My Sweet Friend Mary Kay – This period of life was short lived. I had family who stepped up and took me in – all of which were great role models.
      As you know my friend – we have to make the best of the hand we are dealt.
      Thank you for being such a dear friend all these years.
      I love you too, tp

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Baron,
      You are welcome my son! You were such a delightful child to raise.
      Thank you for being so good!
      I love you,
      momma

  5. Those of us who had hard childhoods and those who did not all stand up to applaud your honesty. The growing up experiences of bloggers are many different stories, and perhaps it is one reason why we blog.

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Alana – I struggled with the decision to put this “out there”. There are many who suffered more severe abuse at a younger age than I, who felt they had no voice. If my story can make even one neighbor or family member or teacher take notice and get a child help, it was worth it.
      Thank you for reading my story and taking the time to leave your heartfelt comment.
      tp

  6. teresa.peters@live.com

    Rena – It was lonesome for sure! I thank God it did not last longer than it did.
    Thank you for taking the time to read and leave such a heartfelt comment.
    tp

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Hey Rebecca – Thank you for your kind words. My experience made me appreciate life so much more. Also, my life was pretty normal prior to my eighth year, so I was well aware that what was happening to me was very wrong.
      I was lucky that I had family who stepped up and took me in or I would have been in the foster care system. What is devastating is when children think this is normal.
      Thank you for reading and commenting, I appreciate it so much.
      tp

  7. Maria

    I wish I could just give you a big hug. No child should have to live like that. I’m so glad you have a nice life now, and I hope that in some measure it makes up for the emotional abuse you suffered as a child.

  8. teresa.peters@live.com

    Thank you Maria – There are times I feel that God has rewarded me. Like I already paid my dues. Then other times the damage creeps in and I think I am not worthy of the immense happiness I feel today.
    Thank you so much for your kind and caring words.
    tp

  9. Teresa, this is a beautiful and heart-wrenching post. Thank you for sharing a glimpse into your story. I love how you were able to recognize what NOT to do by this experience. Way too often we are given poor examples of how to behave by authority figures and caregivers, and the behavior is copied instead of learned from. And it is truly and inspiration that you can share your story without bitterness or anger. It is so beautiful and pure. I’d love to hear more. Thank you.

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Katie – I would like to share more, but I worry that it is not the happy post that most people want to read. I feel people need to learn to recognize that this could be going on right next door or within your own family. I would love for my post to encourage an adult to reach out to a child who may be in need of a Knight in Shining Armor… This same scenario goes on in houses all over America.
      thank you for your time in sharing your words of encouragement.
      tp

      • I understand your concerns. I think specifically what I’d like to know – and feel free to just email me if you’d prefer – is what kinds of questions do you wish the adults in your life would have asked you, and what could they have done to help? It’s such a grey area that it’s hard to know what to do in these situations.

        • teresa.peters@live.com

          Yes Katie – I have written a brief outline and that is what it includes. Also, another one titled – “What I would have told my Eight-year-old self”. I will think more about it – but I do recognize that it is way off base from what my readers have come to expect.
          Thank you for your continued support –
          tp

    • teresa.peters@live.com

      Thank you Cindy – You have a very big heart, just one of the many things that make you so awesome.
      Thank you for caring and leaving a comment.
      tp

  10. Mary Jones

    Teresa… I’m humbled by your story and I applaud you for sharing! It’s stories like this that help people connect with each other and to get to know someone on a different level! I cherish our friendship (although the miles are between us these days) but hopefully, someday, I would love to sit in your big round room (with all those windows), with drink in hand, and listen to as many stories as you would want to tell. Like a child asking their parent to read them their favorite book, I’m reminded of the Helen Reddy song that starts out with, “Tell me again Mommy.” So someday I can’t wait to say, “Tell me again Teresa” about your story.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *