TATER

The clear skies and sounds of laughing children do little to mask the gnashing teeth and the cold metallic clinking of his belt, the thumping of my chest, my parched tongue.

I see him on the horizon first.  His angry visage, and the way he says my name, a vexation.  I can hide in plain sight, mix with all the other kids playing kick the can, pretend I never heard my mother’s call to supper.  Feign a smile and act pleased to see him “Hi Daddy!”, I can say.

I could hide and never go back.  The thought of never seeing my brother and sisters again, missing my mother;  I stand frozen in my keds and  toughskins, feeling small.  Feeling insignificant.  I know what’s coming.  I will not let him see me cry, I will not be a crybaby in front of my friends.  I will disappear.

Through scrunched eyes, I look up to see his twisted, clouded face.  I hear his bawling fury.  He has me by the arm lifting me enough to make me prostrate, as his good hand wields the belt, the overseer of his justice.

I have learned that a cold wet towel takes the welts down, and I must stand on the toilet to reach them.

I shoot a look at my brother and he gives me a sarcastic “what the fuck?” grimace.  We have been talking about the house we grew up in, our family gathered round, weaving in and out of conversation.  My dad discussing his training techniques for his one year old Australian Shepherd,

“I’m clicker training her.”

“Nice to see you’ve decided to use positive reinforcement.” I reply.

“It’s what I’ve always done with my dogs, Tate.”

“yeah, okay.  I guess we were all just dreaming that you used to beat Susie with a rolled up newspaper when she whined at night.” Chuckled my brother Matt, sarcastically.

“I NEVER TOUCHED THAT DOG!” Dad’s indignant reply.

The murmuring voices around my parent’s deck became silent.  I felt my sisters’ awkward stares, watched a shadow fade the light in my mother’s eyes; they were waiting for my rebuke, for confrontation.

My dad changed as I got older.  Lost his fury one day when I disappeared in plain sight.  Realization dawning as he slumped down, ashamed to meet my eyes.  Forgiveness held just out of his reach, leaving him prostrate before my silent glare. The Wheel having turned, I expected pleasure in his pain, but none came.

It took years to replace fear and hatred with compassion.  It took almost losing myself to give of myself.  I am many things, good and horrible, just like him, and I too have hidden my shame in revision.