Chapter 17

MY DAD HITS MY MOM

My dad hits my mom. Five very simple words. But you wouldn't believe how hard to say. Or write.

My dad hits my mom. For fifteen years, all of my life, that's been my reality. Most kids are embarrassed by their parents. They're too smart, they're too dumb, they're not cool. For my best friend, they kiss in public. But I wasn't embarrassed, I was ashamed. I didn't want anyone to know. And they didn't. It was our dirty family secret.

My dad hits my mom. For most of my life I wondered if it was my fault. If I was smarter, nicer, prettier, maybe this wouldn't happen. If I was taller, shorter, if I was a boy, maybe Dad wouldn't get so mad. Maybe he wouldn't hit.

My dad hits my mom. And the worst part was, I was alone. No one in the world had a dirty little secret like mine. No one in history knew what I felt like.

My dad hits my mom. A friend showed me some statistics from the Justice Department. Four million women get hit every year. Many with kids. A lot of the kids get hit too. I was lucky. I...

... can end. The first step is walking up to somebody, somebody you trust, and saying the five hardest words, 'My dad hits my mom'.

"Damn girl. You can write," I said as I passed the page to Robbie.

"I never knew," was her comment when she finished.

"You weren't supposed to," Tami said with an almost-smile. "That's the whole point of a secret.

"Now what?" Robbie asked. We were sitting outside, eating lunch out of our brown paper bags. It was a bright clear and warm March day.

"Tony thinks I should print it in the school paper, in case there's somebody out there like me, one with a dirty little secret they're ashamed to tell."

"Then a reprint in the New York Times, and a quick trip to Columbia University to pick up a Pulitzer, splitting the money with me, since it was my idea."

Robbie patted me on the head. "He's so cute when he's delirious."

Tami grinned, "He's even cute when he's not."

"So are you? Going to put it in the paper?"

"I'd like to. Tony was right, it helped a lot to write it out. I'd like to think it might help somebody going through this. But, it won't work."

"Why not?" I asked.

Tami fixed me in her gaze. "You take the same journalism class as I do. Remember the guidelines?"

"Guidelines?"

"For printing articles in the school paper?"

"I must have missed that class."

"Slept through it is more likely," Robbie said, patting me on the head again.