Silent Cry Read Online Free Page A

siblings and I
sometimes tried to step in and mediate. On many occasions, one or more of us would
run outside and plead for help. My older brother Gary wanted desperately to protect
Mother, but he was no match for our stepfather.
    Our relatives and neighbors would try to answer our cries when the fight was on,
and sometimes the police would come, but my stepfather held some inexplicable power
over all of them. Whenever he started talking, it was like he cast a magic spell
on people. Though the evidence of the abuse was as plain as day, and we had been
there to witness it all, he was always able to explain it all away. Because he had
a reputation as a hard worker and was loved and respected by everyone, no one wanted
to believe he was capable of such violence. His behavior toward my mother so contradicted
the “daytime version” of his life that it left our family and neighbors just as confused
about him as we were.
    Somehow, what happened in our home was considered a private matter between a man
and his wife — therefore, it should not be interfered with. It was like some unspoken
code. There was a deeply ingrained, dangerous tolerance for domestic violence in
our community. The women shook their heads in sympathy and prayed silently — too
many of them had also been victims of violence at one time or another.
    I coped by throwing myself into my schoolwork, carving out a place for myself in
the top tiers of my class. I was involved in everything a student could possibly
be involved in, and Buras High School was my haven. My drive to succeed went far
beyond the classroom. I learned to channel the frustrations of my home life into
the positive energy of competitive athletics, where my focus and natural abilities
soon brought me to the front of the pack.
    The problem was that participating in athletics cost money, and I needed to pay for
everything from tennis shoes and uniforms to registration fees and travel. By this
time, we had even less money to live on, and my mother’s salary didn’t allow for
any extras. I felt guilty having to ask her for money to purchase what I needed.
Sometimes she had to take out small loans to keep us kids supplied. Because of her
good reputation and kindness, people were often willing to lend a helping hand. But
as I grew older and was increasingly aware of our plight, I often pretended I didn’t
need anything so I could somehow lighten her burden.
    I had a friend named Deborah who played sports with me. Her mother was a friend to
my mother and was aware of our situation. When we had out-of-town games, Deborah
often paid for my meal or ordered double portions and pretended she couldn’t eat
it all so she could share with me. Her generosity melted some of the hardness that
had developed around my heart. God used her compassion to reveal his love to me.
Over and over again, the warmth of Deborah’s kindness melted the cold, hard knot
growing within me, allowing me to trust God and know I was in his hands.
    Sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, Mother couldn’t find the money for the things
I needed. When times were really desperate, she’d get a faraway look in her eyes,
sigh deeply, and say, “I guess you’ll have to ask your daddy.” I’m not sure how he
found the money or even why he did it, but he always seemed to come up with what
I needed so I could continue to play sports and be involved in all my academic and
extracurricular activities.
    At softball games, I sometimes saw my stepfather standing off by himself in the distance.
He never came into the stands. He didn’t want to be around people, but he was there
watching. When it was my turn at bat, I would think, Come on, Dot, hit this one right
over his head! I wanted to make a ball fly right over his head to get his attention!
    I played basketball and volleyball too, but he never came to a single game. Those
sports were played inside a gym, and I think the idea of coming