I grew up going to the First Baptist Church in Lucerne Valley. We all went every Sunday except for my dad; I don't ever remember him setting foot in that church. The church had a passenger van that the youth instructor, Mr. Stanfield would drive to pick people up. He was one of the nicest men I have ever known. His wife on the other hand was horribly mean.
Around this time I remember when dad had mom locked in the bathroom and she was screaming and it sounded like he was beating her to death and Billy and I were pounding on the door telling him to leave her alone. I remember just screaming for him to stop. She ended up with a black eye and gobs of her hair pulled out.
This is a photo of Rita, me and mom at the donut shop after she hurt her eye. I had convinced my mom to make Rita stay home and let me go and spend the night with some friends. Rita got so angry that she went next door and broke a coke bottle and because of the heat it exploded in her face cutting her eye. My mom and the neighbor took her to the emergency room where the doctor on call at the time used a jet spray to wash the glass out and proceeded to wash her whole cornea out as well, ruining her eye forever. I have always felt responsible for it because if only I had let her come with me to the sleep over it wouldn't have happened. I remember when she was in the hospital I sent my cabbage patch kid with my parents to stay with her while she was there. Small consolation. 😔
No comments:
Post a Comment