I was their protector. Their warrior. Others speak of me as being a warrior against my illness, and not to belittle those battles because they are beautiful in their own way, but those will never compare to the war I fought as a child. I felt like David in stories of old – just a child in armor too heavy for his young form. He stood to protect those he loved, armed with only his faith and will. He went up against a giant and won, but I wonder – did he himself heal? Did he never forget screams from specific soldiers that broke through the mayhem to pierce his young ears? Did the bloodshed haunt his sleep for years after?
Mine does. When the giant would take over our beloved patriarch, I volunteered to stand.
When Dad bowed to anger and began to hunt down anyone who dared defy him, I viewed my role as similar to that of one hiding Jews during ww2 or an Underground Railroad conductor in southern America. I HAD to keep my siblings safe – safe from physical harm, yes, but more so from sounds that would keep them awake at night. Little did I realize how many years of nightmares I accepted in their stead. The pounding of angry heels would be my first call to action. I’d quickly gather my innocents into their bedrooms and often tell them to cover their ears. I suppose I wanted the lasting pain to affect as few as possible. I took a sort of weary pride in my role. I alone had the courage to stand. My older sibling was too weak. I don’t remember where they disappeared to during those battles, and I didn’t have time to care. All I remember is the verbal explosions and the screams that followed. Sometimes a chase, like that of a predator hunting down prey, and then the cries for mercy. I can still feel the little ears under my palms, held tight in an attempt to give them a better chance at…innocence? I didn’t know what I was fighting for except that I didn’t want them to be afraid. I alone stood between them and those haunting cries from our mother. One day in particular has gripped me often. “No George, stop! That hurts!” I heard the cry through the walls behind my parents closed bedroom after my dad had wreaked havoc on our home in his angry chase, and finally cornered our mom. Each time that terror filled cry sounds in my memory, I cower in fear. Nobody left to protect, I am surrounded and alone. Nobody remains to protect, nothing to deflect my fear. Nobody left to protect, no little ears to cover. I wish I could cover my own against the echoes.
Creating Peace From the Pieces 