The house seemed peaceful with all the laughter of my family. The chatter of the adults and the squeaky voices of the kids echoed throughout the house. My cousins and I just finished playing our game of baseball in the backyard. I was so thirsty and tired, and I asked my father for some milk. He yelled, “Go ask Elisa!” I ran to ask his girlfriend Elisa if I could have a glass of milk. She calmly said no. I always had a feeling she never liked me. I then went and told my dad she said no, and he instantly became mad. His face was boiling red with anger and his hand clenching in a fist. My dad had dealt with his anger issues before, abusing other people close to me in my life. He just went to get me the glass of milk anyway. I then heard him ask Elisa if she told me no. She then said, “No, I never told her she couldn’t have a glass of milk.”

My dad said, “Never to lie to me again.” Of course, he was screaming at me. At the age of five, I was going to cry no matter who yelled at me and how loudly they did it. He slapped me hard across the face and told me to quit crying. My cousins continued to play; my grandma continued to make dinner, and everyone else continued to watch T.V. I knew how my dad could get; I sucked it up and stopped crying. My face, beating red and warm to the touch, developed bruises hours later. The day continued until all fifteen of my family members there decide it was time for bed.

I was the only kid who couldn’t go sleep with the kids in my cousin’s room. My little brother, who was two, could go sleep with them though. My dad made me sleep with him and his girlfriend in the living room. I later realized it was because he wanted to punish me. I always thought it was my punishment for him thinking I lied. While I was trying to fall asleep, I started seeing monsters on the wall because my dad locked me in the closet when I was younger. I cried a little because I was scared. My dad felt my body shake from crying and said I better go to sleep, or I would get punished. I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. I eventually did.

Several hours later a sharp pain woke me up. When I opened my eyes, I saw tears. It was pitch black, and I could barely see anything at all. After a few seconds, an image started to develop. Then I saw my “daddy” who is supposed to treat his daughter like a princess, protect her from icky boys, and love her so much, beating me with his leather belt. I think, my grandma and I had given him that belt for Father’s Day. I screamed so loudly for someone to help me. I screamed, “Daddy, please, Daddy. Stop I won’t do it again. I promise. Daddy, please stop.” He didn’t seem to care that I was pleading for him to stop. I wailed my arms all over the place, trying to hit a wall or grab something to throw, so I could make more noise. Elisa was right next to my dad saying, “Danny, stop!” My arms went to my side as I was trying to curl up in a ball to protect some of my body.

After what seemed like hours, he finally stopped. I wanted to run and get my grandma. I couldn’t move. I had no feeling in my arms, legs, or anything. I couldn’t even say a single word. I thought to myself at the age of five, ‘My daddy killed me.’ I closed my eyes, hoping it was all a nightmare. My dad then whispered in my ear, “Don’t lie to me ever again.” Motionless, I kept my eyes closed and asked Jesus to help me go to sleep. I silently sang the song “Jesus Loves Me.”

I then realized why I couldn’t go sleep with my cousins; my dad wanted to teach me a lesson. When I woke up, no one seemed to notice what had happen to me. My dad instantly took me to the bathroom to give me a bath. When he took my clothes off and saw what he had done, he cried. He said, “Baby, I’m so sorry. Daddy is so sorry.” I wasn’t really sure what to say. I learned from my mom to say, “It’s okay” when someone apologizes. I didn’t really play much with my cousins because I was sore. They all asked what was wrong, and I just told them I was sick. Out of all the people there at the house, no one rushed to help me. I still don’t forgive my family for not doing anything. I believe if Elisa weren’t there, my dad would have kept beating me. I bet I would have died.

That night I had to go back home to my mom. I was happy because I wouldn’t have to be with my dad anymore. Well, my mom decided to give me a bath. She didn’t expect to see what she did when she took my clothes off. Her eyes were wide with tears filling up in them. She asked me what happen. I didn’t say anything. I was afraid to. I didn’t know what she would have done or what my dad would have done if he knew I told.

The police came and took pictures for the charges. I couldn’t see my dad for a year after that. I have nightmares about it till this day. I wake up, screaming for someone to help me, hysterically crying for my mom. Yes, I know some may think I’m such a baby for crying for my mom as a teenager. Well, I can’t help it. I always did it when I was a child. It was just habit. He messed my life up because of what he did to me. His anger issues landed him in trouble again several years later, and now he isn’t part of my life because he is sitting in jail for his actions. I ask myself every day why it had to be me? How come not someone else or his girlfriend? Why his five-year-old daughter? ‘I guess things happen for a reason,’ I tell myself. I’m not glad it happen, but it made me who I am today: a strong independent person. I still don’t forgive my dad till this day for what he did to me over a glass of milk.