Toms story, an old mans tale
Dear diary December 24th 2003
Now it's finally Christmas. I sit in my comfy couch in the living room watching the fire, feeling the warmth spreading in my old body. There are Christmas wrappings all over the floor and my beloved wife is outside playing in the snow with our children, grandchildren and my brothers and sisters with their families.
I love the sound of happy laughing children. It always makes me think that as long as there is love in the world there is still hope for humanity.
I can't say that my childhood was a very happy time. I don't remember much of my first years of living, just that we lived in a cold dark apartment and that mom and dad yelled at each other a lot. Then we moved to London.
Dad left us when I was six and that's when the beating started. I can still remember the first time that mom hit me with the belt.
I had been out playing soccer in the street with some friends and had come home a bit late for supper. Mom was furious. She grabbed my dad's old leather belt and dragged me into my room. She was screaming at me all the time, something about having to beat the devil out of me. Then the first hit came. The pain was beyond imagination. I screamed out loud in pain and fear watching as the white wall in front of me got stained by blood.
The pain increased with every hit until I couldn't take it anymore, the world started spinning and then faded to black.
When she didn't hit me with the belt she used to beat me with her fists, or if she was in a good mood she just slapped me hard in the face a few times.
That kept going on for years, getting worse as the years went by. I tried to cover up the marks from the beatings in school, but I think that the teachers suspected something. I was sent to the school nurse a couple of times but it seemed like no one figured out my secret, or maybe they just didn't care.
At that time I thought that it was my fault and mine alone that mom treated me like dirt. Nothing that I did was good enough in her eyes.
The only light in the living hell that was my life was the birth of my little sister Hannah. She was such a sweet and beautiful little baby. She was my little sunshine, my light in the darkness, my pride and joy and I loved her with all my heart.
I was the one taking care of her when I wasn't cooking or cleaning the house. Mom didn't care about her at all and it was up me to keep her alive.
Britain joined in the war shortly after my tenth birthday. Hannah had just turned one when mom decided that London wasn't safe anymore and told me that we were going to move to New York.
The boat ride was a nightmare. Hannah was seasick all the time and so was mom. That didn't keep her from screaming at me and beating me though. My time was spent mostly between tending the baby, serving mom whatever she called for and emptying the vomit can.
After five days we finally reached the harbor of New York. The feeling of the solid ground under my feet was heaven sent. I carried Hannah on one arm and the luggage in the other hand to the waiting cab that was going to take us to our new home in Little Italy.
A month later I started fifth grade at the local school. That's where I met Michael and Nikolai, two boys that came to change my life for ever.
Michael, Mike for short was the oldest son of a rich Sicilian Don and Nikolai, called Nicco , his cousin was the only son of a Russian prince and Tony's aunt.
They took me under their wings and we grew as close as brothers.
I wasn't ready to tell them about my home life but they figured out that something wasn't right by the way I always changed the subject when they tried to ask me about my home, the tattered cloths I always wore, my extremely low self-esteem and how I always carried my sister with me when we hanged out after school. They didn't push the question, knowing that I would tell them when I was ready to do so.
I hated when I had to leave Hannah with mom in the mornings when I had to go to school, afraid that she'd beat her too. My worst fear would be coming home after school one day finding her dead, beaten to death. Her little body lying bruised and broken on the floor. I tried to protect her from mom as much as I could, so I brought her with me whenever it was possible.
Two years later the situation had gone from bad to worse. Hannah had just turned three years old and she was terrified of being left home alone with mom. Every morning before I went to school she hugged my legs, begging me to take her with me, not to leave her at home. My heart broke every time I had to shake her off, promising that I'd get back as soon as I could and walking out the door hearing her sobs and cries behind me.
Then Mom fell into a deep depression and the doctor had given her a large amount of pills to take. Knowing that it was up to me to make sure of that we had food on the table I asked Tony's dad, Don Corleone for a job after school.
He managed to get me, Mike and Nicco jobs at the supermarket. Seeing how protective I was of Hannah he made sure of that I could bring her with me to work.
She made friends with the owner's daughter and they played almost all the time. The three of us boys had a pretty good time working together. Well, not that it was that fun putting price tags on the groceries but as we worked we chatted about all kinds of stuff, mostly about cars, sports and of course girls.
Girls, those beautiful and mysterious creatures that you'll never fully understand.
And time went by so fast, summer became winter, and winter turned to into spring.
At the age of fourteen I was the shortest of the three of us with my five foot five inches. Both Mike and Nicco were taller than me by at least six inches.
I and Hannah ate dinner quite frequently at the Corleone's. Not that they minded, they were more than happy to have us there. Both Mike's and Niccos families, which lived close to each other and used to eat dinner together said that we were like a part of the family. Don Corleone's wife Consuelo had taken us to her heart, always fussing over us making sure that we ate like twice as much as the rest of the family members.
It was after one of those dinners that I decided that I was finally ready to tell them about my home life. After I finished my story they just sat there in shock.
When I took off my shirt Consuelo broke down in tears at the sight of my back. Don Corleone cursed out loud in Italian.
My back was filled with scars. Some old from the belt and some new made by the iron stick that mom liked to use on me. I'd still had some fresh burnt marks from when she used me as an ashtray a few days ago.
Consuelo cleaned up my wounds and hugged me and Hannah tight. There wasn't anything they could do about the situation. They couldn't adopt us because of the fact that neither I and Hannah nor the Corleone's were American citizens.
Besides, mom would never give us up for adoption. Not that she loved us, but we were hers, her property and she would never let us go. Ever.
A month later she died in a car crash. I didn't even know that she had a car.
The Corleone's took us in as foster children and from then on my life was filled with love and joy.
I wanted to become a lawyer and work for the family that had done so much for me and my sister.
Don Corleone supported my choice of work and paid for my education. Years later I became the family's consigliere. The life as consigliere wasn't as glamorous as in the movies; it was filled with hard work and long days. But I loved my job and the family valued my opinion.
When I turned twenty-six I fell in love with Mike's sister Teresia and asked the Don for her hand in marriage. Both he and Mike gave us their blessing.
The wedding was a huge Italian wedding with a large amount of relatives from all over the world, mostly from Italy, singing, dancing and drinking for days.
Mike was my best man and it was Hannah that caught the bouquet.
Hannah, she'd grown up to be a beautiful young girl and at the age of nineteen she'd broken many young men's hearts. I knew that at the moment she'd only had eyes for Nicco and I had my suspicions that the feeling was mutual.
It turned out that I was right and it was on my son's second birthday that he asked me it was ok with me if he dated her. I, of course assured him that I was more that happy for them and gave him a brotherly hug.
They got married the following year, six month after the birth of my daughter.
The years went by and I saw my own children and Hannah's three sons grow up and made families of their own. Mike took over as the new Don after Don Corleone sadly passed away and married a nice girl named Kay. They had two children; their son is now married to my daughter.
Every night before I go to bed I thank the Lord for everything that I've got and I thank him for the family that I love and cherish so much.
As I putt down my pen and was about to close the diary my wife appeared in the doorway asking me to join her and the rest of the family in the traditional snowball fight.
I put on my coat, hat and gloves and walked out the door with her to the cold outside.
I picked up some snow and threw a snowball at one of my grandchildren, and so the snowball fight begun. The air was soon filled with warmth and laughter.
Life is a valuable gift and should be cherished. What people sometimes seem to forget is the fact that love is the most important thing in the world; it's what keeps the world spinning. Without love the world would be a cold and empty place. And remember, as long as there is love there is hope.
Tom Hagen