Chapter Two
My Judge
Up until the time I was six, Father had only to speak harshly to be obeyed. It was obvious that even though my grandparents had seniority over the house, it was my parents who were obeyed by the staff. If Granny said something to the staff, Mother would change it. She didn't like being questioned. More and more Papa spent time at home. And it became apparent that Father was jealous of the time Papa spent with Christopher.
One day I was playing the piano with Joel. Granny was excited. "Look, Olivia, look how talented your children are. They have extraordinary musical talent. I only hope Christopher become as talented," she gushed. Mother sat there silently watching, with a praised look in her face. Suddenly, Father came in the room, outraged. "MALCOLM," he yelled. I stopped playing, and Joel kept tapping the keys until I pressed his fingers tight. Father never spoke to us and his voice was angry as he spoke of how no son of his would play music. It was feminine, weak. He was going to whip, me I knew. I squared my shoulders, and lifted my jaw, blinking back tears as well as banishing fears. And I was very afraid of my father. Granny pleaded with Father, but it was no use. Mother was mad at her for pleading with me, I understood. Granny was not my mother, or my father.
I stepped into Father's office. "Close the door behind you, Mal," he said before he began. "Don't cry, Mal, don't you dare," he raged at me, as I struggled to blink back tears. "Music is unproductive. If you cry, I'll whip your brother too," he threatened me. There was no way I could cry. My throat felt ragged, with the effort it took to look Father in the eye, and to keep the tears from filling my eyes. "No son of mine will be involved in music. I despise musicians, Mal," he said, his eyes glaring blue ice at me. They clashed with my eyes, and I felt so small and weak, against his powerful gaze. "Not just musicians, but poets, artist, actors. They have no place in today's society. They live in dreams. And we have a future planned for you, Mal. Don't disappoint me again, Mal," he said to me. I was so afraid, my hands shook. "Drop your pants, son," he said. My hands shook as I clumsily reached for them. I didn't move fast enough so Father yanked them down and told me to bend over his desk. "Don't be insolent , Mal," he said. I stifled a sob when the whip first reached my bare bottom. After awhile I went numb, and it wasn't so bad, not so very unbearable. "I doubt you will forget that," Father said as he left the office.
I excited the room, forever hardened. Never again, would he hurt me. I would make him pay, I swore. I would have sworn a blood oath on that. Somehow, he would pay. I would make him pay. From the day I had been born, I had been a disappointment. Father would never accept as an equal. He would never accept me as the son he wanted. Nor, would he ever accept Joel either. Poor Joel, I thought. I had to be strong for him. Christopher was safe, his parents loved each other, I thought bitterly. It was Joel whom father said looked like a girl. Christopher had wonderful parents. I began wishing that Garland and Alicia were my parents. I had to be strong; Joel needed me to be strong for him. Garland always showed up with smiles and hugs and I wished that Father was like that. Instead of lighting up with life, Father's eyes snapped discipline and control. Instead of hugs, and smiles, Father's lips were set in a grim line and his hand ready to smack. My grandfather was much handsomer than father. And at times, with the light in his eyes he appeared younger than Father. How I wished Father would treat me the way Papa treated Christopher.