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Throughout the years, that type of scenario was repeated over and over. It can be hard to explain that we knew what was happening in our house was wrong, but it was also our normal. I envied the other kids who didn't have to go through that, but I was also terrified of my friends' dads.
Many times, when I would sleep over at a friend's house, as soon as they would mention their dad was coming home, I was terrified. I called my mom often and asked her to come and get me, saying that I wasn't feeling good. If their little brothers wanted to pester us and my friend would yell at him, I would freak out and tell her he's fine, he can play with us. I thought if her brother would go upstairs and tell on us for not letting him play what we were playing, we would get beaten for fighting. I remember actually thinking, I know how hard my dad hits, but I don't know how hard their dad hits.
I was five, in kindergarten, and staying over at a friend named Jenny's house. We were just getting into bed, when she said her dad was just coming home. I panicked and insisted she asks her mom to call my mom to come and get me. Jenny's mom was very nice and tried to convince me to stay. I finally said I was afraid I would wet their bed when I slept because every other excuse I came up with, she was able to talk me out of it. She even offered to put plastic down just in case I did wet the bed. She did finally call my mom, who did come and get me. My mom tried to ask me when I didn't want to stay. But I didn't know how to explain it and was afraid to as well.
I was more afraid of her dad, whom I never met and was never told anything bad about, than the embarrassment of saying I wet the bed. I never was a bed-wetter, it was just the only thing my 5-year-old mind could come up with that felt serious enough to call my mom for.
If I made it through the night without having my mom pick me up, I often woke up at 5 am. I just wanted to be sure I was up and awake before anyone else. As soon as it was 6am, I would call my mom and ask her to come and get me, using my same, I don't feel good excuse. I wanted to be gone before their dad got up. I would tell my friend some excuse why I had to leave so early and pack up my stuff and sit outside waiting for my mom to come. I didn't want to take the chance of waiting inside the house.
This was my habit through my teenage years until I was about 16. It was a double-edged sword for me. Spending the night at a friend's house meant that I was safe from my dad for the night. But once I was there, then the anxiety of their dad would come rushing in.
I tried to talk to my mom about what was happening to us a couple of times and her response was always the same. "If you say something, they will take you away from me and you'll never see me again. You don't want that do you?" Of course, I didn't want that. So, I kept quiet.
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