Mother Should Have Helped Build the Wall

By A. L. Norton

At school, I was defiant. They had all-day kindergarten there. We even had naptime. My teacher wanted me to take my brand-new Holly Hobby rain boots off the first week of school to get on a nap mat, to take a nap. The nap – okay. Take off my new boots – not okay. She lost the battle, and I was sent home with a note pinned to my sweater, telling my parents how I was defiant. Thank God dad wasn’t home. That belt would have swatted my naked ass and legs, leaving welts for days.
Right from the start, I was not too fond of school. I was quiet and withdrawn; the other kids bullied me. They teased and laughed at me when I accidentally left my Dukes of Hazard lunchbox on the basketball court. The street sweeper decided to be an asshole and flatten it. What was left of the lunchbox I carried home from school? Dad and mom managed to get a great laugh out of it too. I was the only one that didn’t think it was funny.
Troubles with dad were about to begin, the bullying at school was about to start, and a shitstorm of a life was waiting ahead of me. But at the moment, I was a four-year-old little girl, with hopes, dreams, and someone who thought she had a whole life ahead of her, with endless possibilities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. L. Norton
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005423612

A. L. Norton

I am an Amazon best selling author of 9 books so far. "My Nightmare in Georgia"; books 1 and 2 were number 1 hot new releases. I write fiction, non fiction, romance, erotica, anything that comes to mind. I am a daydreamer. I always have my head in the clouds. I have a great sense of humor, and I am rarely serious, even in serious situations. I believe if you dream it, you can achieve it. I am a drama queen as well. I hope you enjoy my books as much as I love writing them. You can find my books here on Smashwords, and in print on Amazon. Please take the time and leave a review. Reviews are very important for authors. Also, you can click the favorite button if you would like and subscribe to me! Love to you all! Enjoy!

Book preview

Prologue

Staring at a picture of mom, dad, and I, we appeared to be such a happy family in a family photo before my brother and sister came along. I had blonde hair with some reddish tone to it, which I probably inherited from my dad’s mom and a space between my front baby teeth just like dad. Mom was beautiful. Blue eyes, shoulder-length brown hair. Dad, well, he wasn’t so bad-looking himself. I had white stockings on with purple corduroy overall skirt-smiling and with an innocent appearance of a small child that age, even though I was probably anything but. The point is we appeared to be such a happy family. The truth was, I might have been maybe one or two years old in that old faded picture, but I am not sure if we were. Believe it or not, I can remember some things from that far back, even though half of the time I can’t remember what I did yesterday.

Mom was sixteen or seventeen in the picture. Dad, I am assuming nineteen or twenty. Even though my grandparents were strict, and mom having a good Christian upbringing in a loving, caring home with three other siblings, she did well at school; she became pregnant at sixteen with me, dropping out of school to give birth to me and raise me.

Dad graduated, and then enlisted in the Army. He used to say, If you didn’t come along, I could have played football for Notre Dame instead of joining the Army. It always made me feel like I was a mistake – which I most likely was. But it hurt for him to say things like this. It made me wish I was never born, along with so many other cruel things he did. He never cared about other’s feelings, just his own. It doesn’t matter how young you are; kids sense if they feel unwanted. He made me feel that way quite often with his words. It was just the start of all the damage dad would cause me through the years of my life. I was the primary target. He was going to destroy me. He did everything in his power to accomplish ruining my entire existence. Let’s just say he did a damn good job. Bastard.

Some sections of the book might bore you, but make sure you read from beginning to the end. The boring parts serve a purpose. My name is Lindsey. Here is my story of how it all began….

Chapter One

‘When the abuse started. ‘

When I was three years old, my baby brother arrived. There are old photographs in albums where I am holding him, smiling. I guess I was thrilled to have a new sibling and couldn’t wait to have someone to play with, even though I had a playmate my age.

Dad had joined the military. He was gone a lot out on some field duty or overseas. There was a picture of me holding a toothbrush in one hand, kissing him in a family photo that sat upon a table; my favorite image at the time. I must have missed him. I could have been no more than two or three years old. It looks as if I am standing on my tippy toes. While I was kissing that picture, missing him, I never knew what the future had in store for me. I never knew how evil of a monster this man could turn out to be. I never knew he had already abused me several times. Hell, I was a toddler, didn’t know any better. Daddy’s flown across the ocean… Leaving just a memory… "Snapshot in the family album…

Daddy, what else did you leave for me? Daddy, what did you leave behind for me!

I always thought of this song by Pink Floyd whenever I came across this photo.

Dad was stationed in Washington, where my brother was born, I don’t remember much, but Mt. St. Helen’s erupted. Mom said we observed it from a distance from the balcony of our apartment. We sent ashes from the volcano to my grandma back in Indiana. She thought I sent her some dirt, throwing it in the trash. When she later discovered what it was, she and mom had a great laugh.

Always I didn't particularly appreciate when mom would leave us alone with dad. Sometimes, he was excellent. Others, he could be so cruel. I remember one time; I wouldn’t finish my bowl of cereal, so he dumped it onto my head, smashing it as hard as he could against my fragile skull. My heart sank into my stomach. I trembled a little, letting out a whimper as the milk ran into my eyes, burning them. He picked my little body up from my seat, swung me over the kitchen sink, washing my hair under the water, getting the dish soap he was using into my eyes, along with the milk. He made sure the water was ice cold. It was burning my young skull. My neck was sticky, but it was something I could live with. He swatted my ass hard, telling me to play in my room. He always made me take down my panties when he struck me. It was hard. I know his hand had to sting afterward-the tops of my legs and bottom would be on fire. I didn’t hesitate to climb those stairs with my skinny little legs, picking up my cat, Misty, taking her with me to my room. I still must have been three years old. Funny how you can remember bad things that far back. They stick to your mind like super glue.

Misty loved to playfully stick her paws through my Little People’s School House toy and knock over the Little People. I would sit them back up to where she would do it again, and then giggle loudly.

Some of my favorite television shows from when I was little, yes, I am going to take you back in time, was Mork and Mindy, Laverne and Shirley, Three Stooges, Incredible Hulk, and I certainly can’t forget Bugs Bunny, Sesame Street, Snoopy, and Woody Woodpecker. I am sure I might have missed a few.

I was devastated when Robin Williams took his own life. I know how he must have felt–the loneliness, sickness, physical and mental pain. Someone that always made others laugh, helping others when they couldn’t even help themselves–or felt as if nobody was there to help them. I know how it feels, so it broke my heart.

When dad wasn’t such a cruel jackass, he introduced me to his record collection–I enjoyed it. Every bit of it. Pink Floyd’s album, the song The Wall, was my lull-a-bye. Pretty sure he played that record repeatedly for me. I also loved to sit on my big wheel, watching television with him.

One time, it snowed so deep, dad and I made an igloo. Mom took a picture of us inside of it. We are both lying on our bellies; dad had his arm wrapped around me. My blonde hair was flowing from my stocking cap, a smile from ear to ear. It must have still been three years old then.

Another time I remember walking on some boards that had fallen off a partially private fence along with a playground. I was not too fond of shoes on my feet, loving the feeling of grass and dirt between my little toes in the summer. I walked across the boards and stepped on some nails that were poking through from the bottom. Nine went through one foot, eight through the other. Dad took me to the hospital. They had to give me some shots and soak my feet in some solution to prevent me getting an infection. Even though I was little, he made sure to drill into my tiny brain how stupid I was. It wasn’t long after that my cat, Misty, ended up missing. I would find out later on in life that this would be something that would happen way too often.

I don’t know why, but matters that happened with dad stick out in my adult brain more than what happened with my mom. I don’t have memories of her growing up as I do with my dad–even though the memories with dad are both content and painful. It’s almost like dad’s painful memories washed out all memories of growing up with mom – or at least most of them. Now that I think about it, he most likely did. I do remember her screaming and yelling at me a lot. Cursing like she was bat shit crazy. But that didn’t happen very often. At least not until we got older, so I will write about that later.

When I was almost four years old (I think), dad was given orders to be stationed overseas in Germany. We had to get rid of my beloved dog, Muffin. Why did we get pets? He flew over before me, mom, and my brother. We had to have these shots in our arms (pretty sure small pox vaccines), and we all thought our arms were going to fall off. It was pure agony! We had lumps where they gave us the shots and ice