He is Hurting My Mother!

By Delbert H. Rhodes 


Of my childhood memories: the saddest is seeing my mother harmed.

While attending laundry in our backyard, suddenly my mother begins to yell. Though busy in my bedroom, at play, I stop to listen. Initially, her words are difficult to understand, I feel tense. Somehow, I realize that she is angry, scared.

Suddenly the furor rushes indoors, and then into the living room. Running to my bedroom door, I see my mother, and stepfather fighting. I have never seen this before, but afraid for my mother, I place my tiny body between him and her. A small piano sits to the rear, and against the wall. Angered by my interference, my stepfather forces me back, and against the piano’s keyboard.

My little back hurt, and my anger increases. I want to hurt ‘him.’ I fight him; but am too small, and unable to wrench free of his grasp. Looking straight at him, and without fear, I scream, “When I grow-up, I’m going to ‘kill’ you, for hurting my mother!” “I’m going to ‘kill’ you!” I repeat this, blood rushes to my little muscles, and then I remove his hands.

The fight continues and then soon stops. Frightened for my mother, I stay by her side. I would not permit this horrible man to touch her, again. Soon, he leaves the house, and then my mother telephones the police. The Officer arrives and meets us in the front yard. My mother does not press charges against my stepfather. Now, I am angry with her.

Even unhappiness takes a break, but quickly returns. Once more the snake strikes.

My mother wakes the three of us, telling us to go home with our neighbor. While leaving the bedroom, I could hear noise, loud banging on the kitchen door. My stepfather loudly yells to my mother, to open the door. He is angry, and I refuse to leave my mother alone. “Go.” My mother insists. “Go.”

The neighbor leads me out by the hand, as I look over my shoulder. I am afraid for my mother. Before I leave, another loud bang on the kitchen door, it swings open, and then my stepfather rushes inside. My mother runs to stop him; in his hand, he carries a short plank. The brute swings the board, hitting my mother across one of her calves. I try to wrestle free from the neighbor, but she holds me tightly. My mother is hurt, but keeps fighting. I am hurt and keep trying to get free. I want desperately to help her; I ache desperately, to hurt ‘him!’

Copyright © 2011 Delbert H. Rhodes

4 thoughts on “He is Hurting My Mother!

  1. Yes, I will walk with you.

    We must be a light in this dark world. Souls are at stake, and we will be judged by God for keeping silent.

    That “TOWER OF LOVE” must be erected by our joining forces with all who are willing to fight the good fight of faith.

    Yes, the war will be difficult, but there is nothing too hard for God – He will be with us. He is looking for spiritual warriors, as most have become mute. We must fight against oppression, be a voice where there is only pain.

    Again, yes, I will walk with you. And God will walk with us.



    1. Hi, and thank you. With you others and God, I am in good company.

      Sad that some could become mute regarding such as oppression. Without voices (speaking out) without people taking a stand, without “love,” we are all lost.

      ssofdv doubtless, God led me to you. I might have searched otherwise, but no, the pathway lead to you, and I am (sooo) happy.

      I have taken many walks in life, surely, and as I adored them, this walk would be the greatest love.

      Be Well


  2. Wow – I read this post like I was reading my own life story. I have been where you have walked, and it touched a place in my soul – a dark place. I was the child that you were, defender of an abused mother. Like yourself, I was too young to help her, but vowed to “kill” her abusers one day. I came close to doing so – but only in a dream.

    I say “abusers” for there were many. I can’t say which one I hated the most, for I hated them all. Unfortunately, my brothers were too young to help her as well. But when they grew up, things changed. Sadly, my brothers learned to abuse women, and one lost his life because he hit the wrong woman.

    The craziness in my mother’s house will be with me until I leave this world. You never get over it, but I thank God that I can at least understand my feelings about it now. And that is why I write.

    It seems that your mother at least tried to protect you, mine betrayed me. Keep writing – God gave us this gift for a reason.



    1. Yes, WE SUFFER, YET WE LIVE. (And) yes, God gave us this gift, and we must continue writing; we must spread the word against violence and hatred. We share a past and now a present, this is good. Through our gifts: We must combine forces, building a TOWER OF LOVE against hatred and violence. The war would be difficult to wage, but we would develop a powerful and tireless army. WILL YOU WALK WITH ME?

      Thank you for returning


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