The Story of My LIfe: Age 4: Moving

So, as you can see, my early years were anything but boring. Then, I turned 4. Hmmm. . . . If I were to look back through my life and choose one year to erase, this would be a consideration, although I'd probably keep it in favor of some other ones. That alone should tell you a lot about it.

So, the year I turned four was an interesting one. It started out nicely. I had a big birthday party and invited all my friends and cousins. I got lots of toys, which made me happy. I even got a bicycle, which my dad taught me how to ride.

Then, a few days after my forth birthday, my mom confronted my father for the first time about his affairs. Well, needless to say, everything went downhill from there. I went from a peaceful family with a dirty secret to a family that was totally different. My father started hitting my mother and throwing her across the room, accusing her of having affairs with other people as well. He would have her followed to and from work to see where she was going. He made us move to a different house so that he could have his friends keep an eye on what we were doing. He started hitting me, too, if I tried to protect my mother, so I figured it was best if I quit trying. I was no longer given anything I wanted, and I was often ignored.

Things went from bad to worse, and quickly. Within a few months, my mother was going to the hospital with a broken arm and two broken bones in her leg. She had to take time off of work, so our economic status slipped, and we couldn't afford a lot of things, so we had to move again. When her bones finally healed, I was about 4.5 years old. I remember being woken up in the middle of the night by my mother and told to hush, that daddy was out, and we were going somewhere. I was taken to my grandparents house.

A few days later, my life changed again. I don't remember any of this, so I'm not sure, and my mom doesn't talk about it much. But, one day, my dad came home drunk and angry and upset, and accused my mother of doing all sorts of terrible things. He was so angry, he tried to beat her with a hammer until she almost died. Then, he left. My mother than ran over to her parent's house.

My father, the next day, came over and tried to see her. My grandfather told him that he had called immigration and they would be by to see him within the next couple of days. He also mentioned that he had told them that my mother had found his place where he was storing drugs, and that even if he cleaned it out, the drug dogs would still be able to smell it, and he would be put in jail for several years. My father didn't want to leave, he was too angry. But, when my grandfather started calling the police, he left. And I didn't see him again for a very, very, very long time.

When he left, he didn't write, he didn't call. He just dropped of the face of the earth. My mother moved again, so this was our forth time moving (if you count moving into my grandparent's house) in less than 8 months.

So, now, instead of being an adored, spoiled little princess, I was now an angry, hurt little girl whose mother worked overtime and didn't have time for her anymore, and who didn't have a father. And I didn't know what to do.