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Array
(
[sid] => 76443
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Sense of Worth
[time] => 2004-12-19 10:45:46
[hometext] => This is a poem or story about one small part of my life as a child.
[bodytext] => Sense of Worth As a child, my life was always in turmoil. Everyday my siblings and I woke up to the same dreadful situation. Our father was extremely abusive to us and our mother. My father had total control over my every thought, dream and step. It had to be his way or no way. One time when I was about seventeen, a man that I knew from church asked me that Sunday if I would consider going out to dinner with him on Friday night. Not wanting to sound childish or to be rude, I told him that I would think about it and let him know. This man was over ten years older than myself and I knew that my father would never allow me to see him, so I never gave his request a second thought and went on with my week as I always did, working as a cook-aide at the local elementary school. I totally forgot about calling him to tell him I couldn’t make the date. That Friday night, he pulled up into the drive and my heart sank. I knew that I was going to be in deep trouble with my father and then on top of that I had to face this man and tell him the truth. The man came to the door and my mother invited him in. I nervously explained why I could not go out to dinner with him and asked him why he came even though I had told him that I would call if I could go. He said that he thought maybe he had just missed my call. While we were talking, my father came and made the man leave. I knew I was in trouble. My mother told me to go on to bed and she would talk to my father. Well, there was no talking to that man, ever. My father came into the bedroom and told me to get up. My bedroom was just off from the kitchen, so when I went to go into the living room, my father was standing by the refrigerator and punched me in the face, knocking me over our dining table and into the back door. My nose and mouth were bleeding when I stood up, which only angered him more, so he beat me until I begged him to stop or until he got tired, not sure which. The reason I told that story is to show that sometimes in life people treat you bad because they can, because they know that no one is going to help you and they enjoy the power that it gives them. My father never cared about what he was doing to my sense of worth, because to him, I wasn’t worth nothing, if not to be his punching bag. Maybe that is why I never thought I could do anything or be anything and why I have a hard time feeling good about myself or knowing what I want in life. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 169 [topic] => 31 [informant] => SharonAngel [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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