I remember opening the front door and walking into the living room where my father was sitting with a beautiful woman. She had long brown hair and looked charming in her blue suit. There was a lit candle and a large jug of wine sitting on the table.
They were sitting side by side on the couch, and even though they weren’t kissing, she felt like something was very wrong. I looked at his hand on her leg and felt confused and a little sick to my stomach.
Even though my stepmother was not a close person to me, I felt angry with her.
She was exhausted and hiding a black eye while working one of her two 16-hour-a-day janitorial jobs. These jobs provided enough money to pay for my father’s drug and drinking problem and kept her out of the house most of the time. After serving her working hours, she would come home to find a drunken husband, who would beat her or fondle her with his hands, depending on his mood, who was all over the other women.
Related: 6 Warning Signs Your Husband Or Wife Is A Bully
At eight, I didn’t understand how complicated these things were. I didn’t know exactly what happened after the hands were on the legs, but from being exposed to these types of situations so often and so early, I knew a lot for an 8-year-old.
What I understood was that my father was a terrible, selfish, dangerous man whose self-care came at the expense of every decent person around him.
The woman looked at me and smiled. “You must be Brenda. I’m Sharon.”
I remember thinking it looked like one of my Barbie dolls, so I said hello, and went into my room only for my father to follow me and tell me to come out and play. Then he quietly ordered me to ask someone if I could sleep. I was scheduled to be home when my stepmother got home.
I didn’t argue and found a place to stay that night. The next morning, I came home to find Sharon preparing to leave the apartment. My father was in his underwear. My stepmother was finishing her shift at the hospital and would be home in two hours.
Sharon asked me to accompany her to her car, where she was carrying a piece of candy for me. My father said it would be fine but we had to hurry back because we had things to do.
As we walked, Sharon asked me if I had a mother and if she lived with us. Even though he never said a word to me, I knew I had to lie and cover for my father, or else I would get beaten. I told her that my mother left me when I was a child (true), but my father never married again.
That was a lie. He did this three times: twice to the woman who was about to collapse in sheets that were daubed with Sharon’s perfume, and God knows what else.
Related: 8 Tiny Warning Signs That Scream ‘Do Not Marry Him!’
When I got back to the apartment, my father asked me what Sharon had asked me to do. I told him everything. He praised my “faithfulness,” a word he also used when I lied to doctors about the marks on my body.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door to get out of his way. After a while, my stepmother entered the apartment, and my father pretended that he had just woken up. She entered the bedroom and closed the door. The memory still sticks with me because it was the first time I was stunned and horrified by my father’s betrayal.
People talked about my father’s violence, but they never talked about his constant sexual indiscretions. This was not a topic to discuss with a child, yet it was constantly discussed around me. I knew the names of his mistresses because my stepmother would scream at him in angry, painful wails, and he would throw them in her face after hitting her, right before he would lock the door and drive away to meet any of them.
Sometimes, I would see them sitting in his car, waiting for him to “let go” of my stepmom. She was always crying and packing her things while I sat in the room watching her. She would share information with me that I was too young to hear, promise to come and get me, and leave for the night (usually to a neighbor’s house).
I would lie in an empty house and pray that my grandfather would get better and I would be able to live with him alone or that my mother would come and want me.
Looking back, it’s clear that my father’s infidelity was no surprise to anyone he met (the man left no value untouched), but the influence of a bad father on the women in his life, including me, was significant.
I could not understand the hideous way in which he moved women to satisfy his needs and how willing they were all to ignore or live with the reality of their presence in another woman’s life, home, and bed. At the time, I couldn’t understand how my current stepmother would endure going from mistress to wife, then mistress to wife again.
Although my grandfather was the most moral and loving man I ever knew, I never saw him with a woman, and we certainly never talked about such things. The only relationships I’ve been in have been ones where I’ve been given the message that men cheat, hit, yell, and lie and women better shut up and deal with that because being with a man is more important than being safe: physically, sexually, or emotionally.
