Slap, the boy’s head whipped around as the heavy hand of his father connected with the soft skin of his face. Tears burned in his eyes as the heated flesh began to swell and bruise under the satisfied gaze of his supposed parental figure. A knee to the stomach was next, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to the floor in a desperate bid to further protect himself. He did not know why he even bothered to try and resist, it was always the same anyway. His father would get drunk after a fruitless day of physical labor and then take it out on him, though he supposed he should be glad that it was only him and not on his mother as well. Thinking of his mother he looked to the side to see her sagged against the doorframe in resignation. For every beating she would stand out of the way and watch it all happen with regret written clearly in the lines of her face. After he was finished she would put him back together again with gentle hands and kind words. Tears poured from her eyes as she watched her beloved child take the beating that could have just as easily been hers. Every slap was like a stab at her own heart, unceasing until she barely had the energy to stand and witness the brutality of the acts he committed. She hated that she was so weak, unable to do anything to protect her child from his own father. She often thought of leaving him, but she knew that they would be worse off without his income and the safety of a house. With the economy so bad there would be no way for her to find a job that would pay enough to support herself and her son. She had not seen the necessity of finishing high school at the time, but now she was paying for it when trying to find a decent paying job. She could not go to the police, because they did not care. They had seen this case too many times to count and she would be just another nameless face that had to face the courts. The problem was that she did not have the money for a lawyer, and if he somehow managed to get off then their life would become hell, or more of one than it currently was. The sound of skin striking skin brought her back to reality and she looked up into the pleading eyes of her son. ‘Just let is end’ he thought to himself as he removed himself to his thoughts. He would never give the man, for he could never be a father to the poor child, the satisfaction of hearing his cries. Whenever the beatings would start he would remove himself to his thoughts where he would ponder all that had happened in his admittedly short life. He remembered snippets of happy memories, few in comparison to the onslaught of tragic ones. It was his way of coping with what he had to endure. He stayed in his comatose state even as his father finished and wandered off upstairs to pass out for the night. He did not rouse even as his mother cleaned up the blood and wiped off his battered body. He only came back to himself when his mother shook him and informed him that he needed to get to bed for school the next day. He had finished his work before his father had come home, anticipating the usual occurrence of his beating. Not that there was much of it mind you, he was after all only in middle school. His body ached as he stumbled up the stairs with his mother’s help, and crawled into bed with a pained sigh. His dreams were dark and disruptive as his injuries spurred on his tortured subconscious. The next morning he was stiff, and his split lip stung terribly as he stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. He reemerged half an hour later dressed, showered, and as ready to start the day as he would ever be. His father had already left for the construction site by the time he had come down to the table to eat a quick breakfast. His mother stood at the stove in her McDonald’s uniform, tending to some eggs, like she did every morning. He finished his breakfast, kissed his mother on the cheek, and rushed out the door to his bus with his backpack in tow. His school day was a mundane as ever as he finished his work quickly and spent the extra time writing in his little black book that was his constant companion. No one had ever seen what was written inside, not even his mother, but it offered him solace and a place to confide all of his feelings. It had been a gift from a close aunt or uncle when he was younger. He would not remember them much anymore, simply a kind face and a gently pat on the head as they came for a celebration of some sort. They had died a few years ago, and it was only just last year that he had found the book again and begun writing in it. The school day finished and he headed home, opting to walk and get some fresh air instead of riding the noisy bus. Just before he reached the house he stopped in the small rundown park that was located at the beginning of his neighborhood. Towards the back was a cluster of trees that he headed for. He settled himself in a crook of one of the trees and pulled out his little black book once more, absorbing himself in his writing and he escaped from home just that little bit more. It was nearly dark by the time he returned home, his mother greeting him as usual and his father not yet home. He knew that his father would not drink tonight. For all of his faults he was at least consistent in giving him a break after such as harsh beating. And so his life continued for the next several years.

When he entered high school things changed only slightly. He had grown both in height and muscle. He was no longer the scrawny kid that simply took what his father did to him. He was still beaten and abused, but he would try to fight it off first. The first time that he had simply refused to comply with the man’s demands, he had turned on his mother and advanced towards her in a threatening manner, clearly targeting the easiest prey in his intoxicated state. He had stood down a little after that, still taking the beatings, but not as compliantly as he once did. School continued to pose no challenge to him as he floated through the limited course work. His little black book still resided safely his confidence and the once shiny black leather was now well worn and dulled from years of use. He knew that he wanted to go to college to continue his future, to be able to support his mother and get her away from her abusive husband. Once he reached sixteen he began job searching, looking for quick easy jobs that would supply a lot of money. He saved up that way for years, hiding what little he could make and ensure that his father did not take any for drinking money. He had stayed low the first couple of months, keeping to his room and not talking of his job before his father, but as with everything that had happened in his life so far, it had come crashing down one night. He had worked a double shift that night, hoping to earn a little extra cash with the overtime. It would have been perfect if his father had not come home early, buzzed but still sober enough to remember the conversation later. He had interrogated him on where he had been, and hit him when he refused to answer. The impact of the strike had dislodged the clump of money that was his newest paycheck and his father had picked it up in confusion, quickly replaced by rage. “Are you stealing money from me know boy?” he asked while shaking me by the front of my shirt. “I always knew you were an ungrateful brat, but I didn’t thing even you would stoop so low as to steal from your own family,” he nearly growled in his face, the smell of stale alcohol nearly chocking him. “Like you can call anyone low” the boy retorted, only to be hit once more for insolence. This was the first time in a long time that his mother had stepped in and defended him. She had hung onto his father’s arm, sobbing out that he had gotten a job and was not stealing from them. He had stopped after that, still rational enough to realize that the evidence matched up. He had left and headed to the bar, to get properly drunk after realizing that he had been beating his child for no reason. His mother had cleaned him up once again and handed him back the money to hide with the rest.

By eighteen he had earned a nice income, and on the day of his birthday he had gone to the bank and opened a high interest savings account that was unreachable to his parents. Life continued on like always, having long since becoming a mundane pattern broken only by the occasional hiccup in life. The next hiccup he encountered was college, he knew he would be fine there, but he worried about leaving his mother alone with that monster that called himself his father. The day that he left to begin his independent life, he had pushed the man against the closes wall and threatened him just as he had been threatened for years. “If you hurt my mother then I will make you regret it” he hissed in his ear as he lifted him by the collar against the ugly wallpaper of their living room. He had walked out after that, taking the bus to his new campus and proceeding to immerse himself in his studies, and making friends for the first time. It was hard letting them in after spending his whole life shutting everyone but his mother out. He had even shut her out to a certain point. He loved his mother, but there was something about her not being able to protect him as a helpless child that spoiled the budding relationship in the beginning in a way that time would never be able to heal. He still called his mother on a weekly basis, but it was distant and hard to convey what the other felt His friends had wormed their way in, capturing his heart, and protecting it valiantly against heart break. He had dated a little throughout the four year he had spent away from home. He was more interested in the kind gentle ones than the snooty beauties that tried to seduce him to soot their own needs. He had not returned home in all four year, always returning to one of his friend’s houses so that he did not lose his nerve to stay away and finish his degree. College had treated him well. He had filled out a little with the better food, but still kept in shape by wandering the campus when he was not busy with school work or his friends. Life on campus was serene, seemingly removed from the world and his previous life in a way that he wondered if he would wake up one day to find it had all been a wonderful dream and he was in reality a no good drunk just like his father was. But his days continued on in bliss as he passed through midterms and finals, until he finally reached the panicle of his time there, his graduation. The event was huge, easily filling the space that was allotted to it. Long hours in the hot sun were made bearable by the thought that he had done it; he had succeeded on his own and had gotten his degree so that he would be able to live his life to the fullest, despite his father. The moment his hand closed around the diploma, he knew that this was only the beginning.

He was now 24 and on his way to finishing his master’s degree in business with a promise by the company he interned at for a job once he finished. His debts were minimized by his scholarships earned due to high academics, and life was looking up. He had moved into a small apartment in the city, and as soon as he was able he had returned for his mother and moved her out of that house and away from any danger that would come with the man who had sired him. He was currently preoccupied with his research paper that would be due in a few months, diligently looking up sources and jotting them down in a notebook. His mother stood leaning against the doorway, silently watching her child thrive. A cup of coffee was held in her hands and a gentle smile sat peacefully on her full lips. ‘This was how it should have been’ she thought, ‘why couldn’t I have just stood up to that man, or gotten up the courage to leave’. She closed her eyes in sadness before opening them with a new determination. She divorced her husband soon after, filed charges for child abuse, and watched in satisfaction as he was dragged fighting into a cop car and out of their lives forever. Her son had watched proudly as his mother was freed from the shackles that man had placed on her. After that their lives got easier, they settled into a peaceful routine, no longer worried that their tormentor would arrive to ruin it.

At 44 he led a successful life that lived up to all that he had expected and far more. During his first few years at his company he had met a sweet young woman, who had seemed to draw him ever since he first set eyes on her. They dated for two years before he could finally get up the nerve to ask her to move in with him. By now he had moved into another apartment, leaving the previous one to his mother so that they could each live their own live. A year later and they were happily engaged to be married. Her family was wealthy and had offered to help them pay for the wedding as their wedding gift, so it was not long before the wondrous event took place. On their wedding night they conceived their first child. Nine months later an adorable little girl was born with big blue eyes and a mop of soft locks adorning her head. She was a perfect baby, never fussing when she did not require anything, and always smiling and giggling. Her baby brother came into the world two years later, and the youngest came four years after that. Now his children were trouble magnets called teenagers and testing his patience constantly, but he still loved them, having long ago vowed never to turn into his father. Sitting by the fire watching his children play, while his wife read calmly by his side, it made him realize that perhaps getting his father sent to jail was not the best punishment for his actions, perhaps it was that he could be happy and successful even after what he put him through. That he could properly raise his children and not worry that they would think him a bad father. Though he would never be glad that he was forced to suffer though such a scarring childhood, perhaps he could appreciate how it molded him into a better parent because it taught him what a parent should not be in a lesson he would never forget.