Do you remember the first time that you prayed to God? Do you remember if God answered your prayer? Well I remember when I was a young child, around the age of four years old or slightly younger the night I prayed out to God for help.
We had moved up from New York to Connecticut to get away from an area that was once very nice but started turning very quickly into a less desirable and unsafe place to live. My parents found an apartment in a six family building on the third floor.
This one particular evening my mom and dad went out on a date. When they returned, I was woken up from my sleep with my father yelling at the top of his lungs. “I’m going to kill you Lill; I’m going to kill you!” My bed was against a locked door at the top landing before you went into the apartment. I was so scared and started crying out to God. “Oh God, please do not let my father kill my mother.” It was one of the few times in my entire life that I ever felt so helpless and frightened. I hid under the covers and covered my ears so I did not have to hear any more horrible words coming out of my father’s mouth. When the yelling finally stopped, I went back to sleep and woke up in the morning with my first answered prayer. My mother was still alive I hope I remembered to thank God back then for “answered prayer.” Psalm 56:3 What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.
Chapter 11
MY PARENTS
Born of a Christian mother and a Jewish father, my siblings and I were raised as Christians. My mother believed in God and went to church once in a while; whereas my father never mentioned God or his religion. When asked where he would want to be buried, his answer was, “Just throw me in the river.”
My parents were middle class working people. Mom worked the years when my sisters and I were in school. To pick up some extra money, Dad would bartend at the Fraternal Order of Eagles. That was pretty much up his alley, as when he was outside our home life, he was an entirely different man. He was joking and making people laugh, drinking too much and being the life of the party. He appeared to the outside world to be a “great guy.” Unfortunately, this” great guy” could not bring it home. Looking back on the life my parents gave to us children, and I am just speaking for myself and not my sisters, I believe dad was not the type to be settled down with the responsibility of raising a family. Later on in years, my younger sister thought that he was an alcoholic even though he did not drink everyday; there are various patterns of alcoholics, i.e. drinking daily, only on the weekends or every Friday night, etc. I am sure there are more but this is just the ones I am familiar with.
My grandfather on my dad’s side was an alcoholic, owned a Butcher Shop plus a Horse Riding Stable and beat up my grandmother and left her with three young children; the youngest six months old and never to be seen again. My grandmother made a living being an excellent seamstress. She could make any garment without using a pattern. Gram definitely had a God given gift.
My Mom was more of an introvert; did not talk much and kept everything that disturbed her within herself. She was the oldest of six children and when her mother died she was only twelve years of age. My grandfather had to work to support his children and because he did not have the finances to bring someone in to help take care of them, they went to stay with different relatives. All except my mom who was put into an orphanage until my grandfather could bring her home when his life became more settled. I do not know how long she was there but eventually she and my Aunt Ethel, my mom’s sister and my godmother, went to live with a relative in New York.
I remember when I was in my teens, mom was very sick at times, even put into the hospital with duodenal stomach ulcers. I believe that dad added much tension, stress and heartache that helped create this problem within her. My mother’s sister, Aunt Helen, told me that my father used to beat her up. All that mental and physical abuse from dad caused her to have a mental breakdown. She was put into a hospital; I do not know for how long. Later on in life I learned when my mother became pregnant with me, my father was not happy and did not want her to have this baby. I cannot honestly say this all happened at the time when she was in the hospital; but it sure makes me wonder.
When my Uncle Al was around, my father knew to watch his behavior; as my uncle served in the Army and my father was not in the best of shape to fight against a trained military man. At family gatherings there was drinking and one time there was a fight between the two of them and my dad’s arm became broken. Uncle Al was my mother’s youngest brother and was also my godfather. I knew he loved my mother very much and did not get along with my father as when dad drank, he turned into a very cruel hard to handle person. I believe when my uncle was around, dad dared not do anything to physically hurt her but he sure turned on the mental abuse. That can be worse than physical abuse.
When dad wanted to go do his “own thing,” he would pick a fight over the most minor issue toward my mom, get so angry and just leave our home. That was his out, or it could have been his own indifference to run away from his responsibilities just to have another fling. He had left a few times in my younger years. I was really too young to understand the rhyme or reason of his thinking until I started putting things together as I matured.
During one of his “get a ways” I recall him bringing my siblings and myself ice cream. That comes to my remembrance as I was probably around ten years old and it was in the summertime. Thinking to myself why are you now bringing us ice cream, you never took us out for ice cream before or took us anywhere and all of a sudden here you are bringing us ice cream? How come now? Where were you when we needed you? Where were you when my mother needed you? Now here you are trying to buy our love with ice cream! It had been quite a while since we had even seen him, so did he feel in his mind ice cream will take away any hurt or rejection that he might have caused us? Or maybe he was trying to get on the good side of my mom so she would let him come back home. I had so many mixed emotions regarding him; love, hate, resentment and what kind of father/person are you? He never made me feel loved or wanted. His favorite expression was, “Children should be seen, not heard.” Consequently expressing my feelings to anyone was always difficult for me. I did not have that privilege or freedom of doing so while growing up which allowed me to communicate how I felt. What my father said was the bottom line. I knew better than to question or try to reason with him. Living in a home where conversation was limited and many times not even done on a daily basis. The most I heard my father speak was get me this, get me that. He would not even get up to get himself a glass of water. I remember being a constant gofer for him. He needed a personal maid more than he wanted a daughter.
Because of his uncaring attitude toward his family, I believe at this early age of ten and even when I was five or six, the Lord had given me the Spirit of Discernment or supernatural understanding, 1Corinthians 12:10 To another discerning of spirits. God showed me spiritually through guidance and thoughts when to keep quiet and stay out of the way for my own protection.
Dad grew up without his abusive father, raised by a loving mother so he was too young to have seen his mother being mentally or physically abused. I believe we inherit our traits which are passed down through the genes.
All the stories I heard about how horrible my grandfather was, so was my very own father. A chip off the old block, as the saying goes. To this day I believe his nephews would deny what I am writing regarding Unc. They called him Unc for short and adored him. When he was with his side of the family, then that “great guy” personality came out. Yet they did not live with him or never knew what went on behind closed doors in our home. My father was literally a Jekyll and Hyde type of person. Maybe he picked the wrong vocation. I believe acting would have been more appropriate.
After graduating from grammar school, my parents took me to a carnival. Dad and I went on the roller coaster and I will never forget that when the roller coaster came to the top and then started to go downhill, the force pushed me upwards and coming down it pulled me back into my seat. My father never grabbed me to hold me down; to make me feel safe and secure. To this day, I cannot even think of ever riding on a roller coaster again.
When I went to the proms in high school, never did dad come away from the television set to meet my escorts or see me all dolled up in the gowns that were bought for me; nor when a boyfriend’s father took me out to dinner when his wife was