Dying For A Voice To Be Heard

By Mary Baker

I entitled my book Dying for a Voice to Be Heard because as a child, the adults in my life wanted me to be silent. My own mother did not want my siblings and me to tell anyone about my father's abuse because she didn't want us. My father didn't want us to tell anyone because he didn't want to pay child support or go to jail. My own grandmother did not like me because of the complexion of my skin. I remember sitting at the table being happy and smiling, and she looked at me and said, "A girl like you should not be smiling." I could not comprehend why a girl like me should not be smiling, and I could not ask my grandmother why she said that because I would have been in trouble. The worst part of my childhood was I had no one to run to. I couldn't tell anybody, and there was nobody to save me. Everyone knew we were held prisoners in our own home. However, everyone stayed silent. It came to a point where we understood why we had to stay quiet, my siblings and I. We knew if we ran to our mother's house, she would not nurture or support us. However, if we kept silent and stayed with our father, at least we would have support and food on the table and a bed to sleep in. In order for us to have the basic things that kids should automatically have. However, with having the basic needs met as a kid it required us to be physically and emotionally abuse. We had to take the frustration of being silent almost caused me to almost commit suicide. I felt there was no reason to live. I had to make a choice. I came to a decision that I was going to commit a sin and take my life. My choice was I was going to have a say in the direction my life was going. When I finally left my abusive father at thirteen, I knew I would never return. I obtained my voice to say no more. I would not accept this drama in my life anymore. I was dying inside as a little girl just wanting to be heard, but since I made that first step to my journey in life, I haven't stopped talking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645695431

Mary Baker

My name is Mary Baker and I am a full time, professional freelance writer, journalist and editor. I have been blogging and doing social media for ten years. (Yes, really.)I currently live in Tucson, Arizona with my retired California winery dog Rebel Rose and her feline assistant Bossypants. My motto is “Food, wine, repeat.”

Book preview

cover.jpg

Dying For A Voice To Be Heard

Mary Baker

Copyright © 2019 by Mary Baker

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

To my cousin, Leona Johnson,

born June 21, 1964, to February 1, 2019.

Introduction

The truth is my destiny started way before I was born. It was the domino effect of black families struggling through hard times and black women getting married at an early age for them to have some type of support. It was the error of slim to none education, and this was the reason dysfunctional families were more common among blacks in the 1960s.

My story started with my mother. My mother was born on July 17, 1944, in Beaumont, Texas. She was the fifth child, born to a family of eleven kids. There were many struggles throughout her childhood. Her own mother never hugged her or told her she loved her, and she never received the proper nurture that children need in their lives. Her father was a hard-working laborer. His way of showing love to his kids was to provide for them. He was always away working. He worked on a ship, and that took up most of his time and kept him away a lot. However, it was not a good source of income to support his family. Moreover, he did not give his kids emotional support.

My father met my mother when she was fourteen years old, and they decided to get married after my mother got pregnant at seventeen. My father set the date to be married on June 24. My mother tried to change the date, but my father stated if he could not get married on that specific date, he was not going to get married at all. So on June 24, 1961, my father and mother became husband and wife. During the ceremony when the priest asked my mother, Do you take this man to be your husband? she mumbled no under her breath and then said yes. My mother sensed something was not right and was already having doubts about my father; however, she married him anyway assuming that marriage was going to give her the freedom to do what she wanted to do. She had mixed feelings about the pregnancy being that this was her first time on her own with a husband, and now there would be another human life she had to take care of. However, she thought the baby would give her the love she always yearned for. My mother and father had different reasons they got married. My father’s reason was he wanted to get married quick and have kids because he did not want to get drafted into the service. He wanted to have kids back-to-back to make sure they would not call for him to go to the service. My mother had no choice but to comply with my father’s demands. Either she gave him sex willingly or he was going to take sex from her.

My mother’s first glimpse of my father’s dysfunctional mind-set was when she heard a lot of commotion downstairs one day. She went downstairs to see what was going on. As she approached the living room, she could not believe her eyes. She witnessed my father kicking and punching his sister repeatedly saying, Didn’t I tell you that you should not ever date a Puerto Rican. My mother stated my aunt was yelling at the top of her lungs saying, He is not Puerto Rican; he is black. He is just light-skinned. Please stop hitting me. My father continued to beat his sister until he was ready to stop. My father’s mother was also present at that time, and she said nothing. My mother was just standing there scared and confused. At that point, my mother thought to herself she might be next. Little did she know the abuse would come sooner than she thought. Over the next couple of years, my mother had two more babies back-to-back making the income smaller for them. My father kept on losing jobs because he could not see himself following orders from another person. In addition, he used to drink a lot. My mother felt trapped.

Before I was born, my mother went through many beatings. My father treated her like she was less than human, instead of treating her like a wife and the mother of his children. He treated her like a possession, someone who was his property, and he could treat her in any way. He used to bring home naked pictures of other women and stay out late past midnight. The signs were all lining up for the great escape. My mother started to realize that she made a mistake and married the wrong man. However, she was in too deep and did not know how to correct or change the mistake. My mother’s income was what my father gave her, and as he lost another job again, he eventually made her go and apply for welfare. He instructed her that when she went down there, she should tell them that he left and she did not know where to find him. When the welfare money came, he took it and gave some to her, and the rest went to whatever he chose to do with it. In 1964, my mother was thinking long and hard on how to leave my father. She was happy with her kids, but she was not happy with her marriage. They were living in an apartment building that needed many repairs. Many things raised great concerns in the building. One day while my mother went to wake up my sister, she discovered a mouse sleeping on the bed with her. It got to the point where the tenants of the building went on a rent strike until the property owner made the necessary repairs. Everyone held on to their rent money, and when the repairs were finished, they paid the rent on the spot. After the landlord repaired things, he knocked on everyone’s door for the rent. When it was time to collect from my father, he did not have the rent money, and the landlord told him they had to leave. The whole family got evicted from their apartment.

They all went to stay in my Aunt Florence’s house in Red Hook. They saw my aunt’s husband, Joe, outside. My father gave him a handshake and asked him how everything was going. Joe told my father everything was good and stated that my aunt was upstairs with the kids. Joe asked my mother how she was doing. My mother responded she’s okay. That did not sit well with my father because he did not want her to speak to any man. My father said to my mother, Listen. Do not be getting too friendly with my sister’s husband. You hear me? My mother just replied okay, but she was confused by the jealousy. Things seemed to be going well for a couple of days. Everything was going good until one day my mother had to go to the store for some milk for the kids. My brother’s diaper was dry when my mother left to go to the store, but he must have peed a lot while she was gone. When my father felt my brother, he became enraged; and as soon as my mother got back in the house, he started beating her. Joe said to my father man-to-man, You cannot be doing that in here. We are not going to kick you out of our house because of you fighting with your wife. You have to take that outside. It was like ten degrees outside that day; snow was on the ground. He dragged my mother out and beat her without mercy. After he beat her, he said, So I guess you are going to leave me. My mother did not say a word. She dragged herself upstairs with the little strength she had and gathered my sisters and brother and left. My aunt felt badly for my mother because she could not see. Her eyes were swollen to the point they were closing up. That night my mother went to her mother’s house. My Aunt Doris was horrified at how her sister looked. She asked my mother why did he do this to you, and they both started crying. She could not believe her eyes. She knew that was her sister, but she was unrecognizable.

My mother told my aunt, Do not tell Mother I’m here. I do not want her to see me like this. Promise me. Mommy already had high blood pressure, and she suffered one from Daddy leaving.

My aunt agreed, I promise I will not tell. I love you.

My mother replied, I love you too.

The next day my mother could not walk. My aunt had to help her just to use the bathroom.

After my mother healed, she decided to stay at her mother’s house. During that time, she met a boy named Joseph. My mother was very smitten with Joseph. He was the opposite of my father, and she felt relaxed around him. They fast became friends. Two years went by, and my father decided to make contact with my mother. He called her and begged to see the kids. My mother finally gave in and agreed to bring the kids to see him. My mother assumed my father was different since two years had passed. When she got to his apartment, he had his own agenda. He beat her and held her captive and threatened her every day until he had control over her again. The following year, my mother at the age of twenty-six became pregnant with her fourth child.

On February 1, 1968, I was first introduced to the world. I was born to a family that was already broken for years. I know there is a saying that things happen for a reason, and I know my mother had good reasons to leave my father. No one can dispute with that. I also understand that in her decision of just leaving everything behind, including me, her four-year-old, her age did play a major part. I am also aware of the error she lived in. It was hard for black women to raise kids on their own in the 1960s. As a matter of fact, it was hard for any women at that time to raise kids on their own. However, as for me being a mother of four, and the passion I have for my kids being that I am willing to die for my kids to protect them and will give them my last. I could not let anyone knowingly hurt my kids. I could not see me abandon them for any reason besides me dying.

Over the years, I have met many amazing women who had the same situation of being stuck in an abusive marriage, and repeatedly I would get the same answer that they left with nothing. Some left barefoot and with no direction, but they took their kids with them. I still cannot wrap my mind around the choice of leaving your kids behind and knowing they are being abused. I understand at the time my mother must have been feeling broken down and desperate for a life change. However, not calling your kids for birthdays or holidays or just talking to them and seeing how they are doing seems like a choice. I know my mother had her own perspective on her choices, but this is my perspective on my journey in life. My name is Mary Baker, and I am a victim of the worst kind of domestic violence. Betrayal comes on many levels and in many shapes and forms. Who would have thought as a child I would be betrayed by the people who were supposed to love and protect me, my own parents? At one time in my life when I was young, I was very lost before finding my way where I am today in life. I guess I am a perfect example of the product of thinking, You cannot change how you were born, but you can change how you live your life. If I could only do but one thing in life, that would be helping young girls and boys in any race or color to understand they do not have to be a product of their family. I would tell them they had no choice to be born to their family. However, they have the power within to change any situation and take control of their own lives.

During my journey in life, I came across many obstacles. I constantly ran away from home fearing for my life from the tender age of six to when I finally left for good at thirteen. I got pregnant at fourteen and had a baby at fifteen. I was born into a world of misery, and for every action of misery, there is a reaction—the abandonment of my mother, the brutal abuse of my father, and the abandonment of my brother and sisters because they also had to make a run for their own lives. Being left alone to defend for myself at a very early age, it led me to a path of being exposed to alcohol, drugs, sex, murder, and abuse. I had a lot of anger toward my mother for years, probably for decades. However, there will come a time in your life to let go of all the anger, to become free, and to become your own person.

Chapter 1

My journey first started as I can remember with love. I loved my dad very much. My father had a brown complexion and a morbid sense of humor. His personality was aggressive but not with us. It was only with my mom he was very demanding and controlling. He was loving toward his kids, or so it seemed at that time. He used to take us to the movies every Friday and always try to do little things for us. I think we saw all of Bruce Lee flicks at the time when Bruce Lee was a big star. It was nothing big, but he did try to initiate small events for his kids. I did not understand at the time what exactly was going on around me. All I knew was at the end of most events, my mother ended getting beat when we arrived home. It was my mother and brother who used to get beat the most. At the age of two, I was not getting beatings. However, that changed when I turned three years old.

One day, my father decided to make a tape about the boogeyman. He started it off by saying, This recording is about the boogeyman. I hope tonight the boogeyman does not get me and suck my blood and I don’t die tonight. The boogeyman had attacked one of my sisters in the middle of the night and sucked most of her blood, and that was the reason she was always sick and looked weak all the time. He continued, I pray that the boogeyman will not get my kids. This may be the last recording. Good night. When I heard this recording, I stood frozen with my eyes wide open. I became extremely scared of the boogeyman. We used to live in a railroad apartment, and the bathroom was all the way in the back. I went from getting up in the middle of the night to pee to peeing on the bed. This did not sit well with my father because I slept with my parents at that time. My father started to wake up soaked in pee. Let us just say he was not a happy camper. He did not care about the reason I peed, and that’s when I was first introduced to his leather belt. My father said to me, Come here, little one. You’re older now, and that makes you old enough to get a beating. Come toward me, and lie across my lap. He started slashing my flesh away. I remember my mother just standing there in fear looking helpless. She said to my father, Johnny, you should be ashamed of yourself. This girl used to go to the bathroom until you scared her with that stupid tape recording. He just looked at her as if he could see through her and started laughing.

At a very young age, I came to realize the devil came in human form. I thought my family at that time was normal. My mother was a stay-at-home mom. She took care of us, cooked, and picked us up from school. My father did not want my mother to work even though she wanted to work. My father at that time was a security guard, and he used to leave early in the morning including my sisters and brother. When they left, that was the time I felt sad. I used to watch them out the window and say to my mom, When am I going to be able to go to school? She used to answer soon, but soon felt so far away. At first, as I can remember, my mother was content staying home with just the two of us watching TV; but I guess she became restless and needed a hobby, and that hobby was Joseph Johnson. Joseph was a tall, brown, slim man who had an Afro with a cliff to the front. He had a very soft demeanor, totally opposite of what my father was. My mother all of a sudden developed a new routine. Every day after my sisters and brother went to school, we would hightail it to her girlfriend’s house named Delores. Delores was a dark-skinned plump woman with a wide grin. She had three kids at that time, and her kids did not take well to me. This was where my mother and Joseph used to meet. They used to send us kids in the room when the men came over to play. I used to dread going into the room because the other kids constantly picked on me. I told my mom one day when we left Delores’s house that I never wanted to go back there again. She said okay, but we were back there the next day. I think the only way I was saved from being tortured by Delores’s bad-ass kids was my father finally figuring out that my mother was making trips to her friend’s house every day. He told her to either stop going or get beat every day for going. My mother had to come up with a new plan because the old plan was not working anymore. Everything went back to just the two of us until my mother came up with a new routine; this routine was to stop going to her friend’s house but to meet Joseph at the Lorimer Street train station on the J Line. She used to be a little annoyed with me because I used to be whining. I guess that used to mess up her flow.

Joseph once asked her, Why is she whining? There must be a reason she’s crying. It makes no sense to keep letting her whine.

My mother’s response was, She’s crying because her father wants her off the pacifier, but she wants her bow-bow.

Joseph said to her, Let’s go to the store over there and get her one.

My mother agreed, and we all went to the store, and he bought me a pink pacifier. After I got that bow-bow, I became cool. They did not hear a peep from me going forward. When it was time to leave Joseph and go home, my mother used to prep me for when my father asked where we were coming from. She would say, Listen. When we go home we cannot let your dad see this pacifier, or he is going to take it from you. You understand? I nodded my head yes. My mother continued and said, You cannot tell Daddy where you got this from, okay? I nodded my head yes again. My mom and I hid the pacifier very well from my father. He never suspected or knew that I was not off the pacifier and his competition, Joseph, was the one who bought it. When my father went to work, that was when my mother would give me the pacifier for me to remain