Monkey Diaries Archive

Mommy Dearest My mother did some pretty fucked up things to us as children but they paled in comparison to what she did to my father. If ever there was a human being on this planet that deserves a long, slow and painful death, it is my mother for the damage she caused. When I was about eight years old my mother beat the living shit out of me because I wouldn't give my younger brother some candy. It was my birthday and my aunt had just returned from Sear's. Back in the day, before they had their own stand-alone shops, Sear's was where the See's Candy counter was located. My aunt knew I loved chocolate covered raisins (this was before raisnettes) and she brought back about 1/4 lb for me as a birthday gift. I gave my little brother some but he was pestering me for more. I wanted to save them for later rather than eat them all in one sitting. My little brother went and complained. My mom, being the fantastic primary care-giver that she was, came after me. Keep in mind that I'm like three foot nothing and weigh about 80 lbs. She grabs me by the hair and yanks me off of my feet. She smacks my face and head repeatedly until I dropped my bag of candy. All over the floor it goes and she's beating the shit out of me and stomping all over my candy at the same time (I've got to give her that much, my mother knew how to multi-task!). My younger brother who was probably two or three at the time starts freaking out cause here's his older brother getting the beans knocked out of him. What does my mother do? She beats me even harder for making my younger brother cry, tearing out clumps of my hair in the process. She throws me into my room, locks the door, calling me names I had a hard time understanding because they were a harsh mix of english and mexican profanity. She returned a few moments later, threw a handful of squished chocolate at me, once again yelling at me for making a mess in the living room. For good measure, she threw my younger brother into his room so that we wouldn't ruin the party. It was my birthday party for crying out loud! Later that same week, my mother kicked me in the stomach. "What for?" you may wonder. Well, to get kicked in the stomach you'd have to do something pretty nasty...here's what caused it...I was told to watch my younger brother while he peddled his little bike (with training wheels attached) around our driveway. We lived on a hill, with a gentle incline. My responsibility as an 8-year old slave was to make sure my toddler brother didn't do anything stupid. So, I was watching him peddle around in circles and if he got too close to the sidewalk, I pushed him back onto the driveway. After about two tedious hours spent keeping my brother from harms way, my mother came outside to tell us that lunch was ready. I grabbed my brother and tried to get him indoors. He yelled, he screamed, he kicked and cried. My mother came outside to see what the commotion was and scolded me for making my brother cry. She yanked my hair (her favorite way of getting my attention) and told me in her Charo-like accent to "get thee fook eenside thee house and leaf heem alone!" "But you told us to come inside!" I stammered. "Don't talk back to me!" she said as she slapped my face, hard. I went inside, my mother trailing after me, yelling profanities and describing my stupidity in great detail. How could she have been cursed with such a stupid child? She begged the gods to deliver her from this hell. I sat down and started eating lunch, trying to keep from crying which would inevitably cause my mother to ensure I had something to cry about. Then, seeing that I was properly humilated and humbled, she went outside to get my brother. The first thing I heard was a scream of terror. The second thing I heard was a car skidding. I rushed outside and found my mother screaming down the block at my younger brother's prone body, lying down in the grass on the far side of the four way corner at the bottom of the hill. She looked down at me as I stood there, relieved that my brother hadn't been hit by a car. She got a look of intense anger and grabbed my arm, driving her nails in, puncturing the skin. Obviously my attention was not properly focused on her because she drew back her leg and kicked me as hard as she could in the stomach. I fell over and retched, leaving my half-eaten lunch, steaming on the concrete. She yanked me back up by the hair, throwing me down the front walk, telling me to go pick up my brother. Later, as it turns out, I found out that it was my fault that my brother "almost was heet by a car!" according to the story she relayed to my father upon his return from work. Apparently, it wouldn't have happened if I had done what she told me and watched him. Ahh...good times, good times...

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