I sat in my armchair today in front of the TV after coming home from a trip into town. I sat there staring at the screen without actually watching what was playing in front of me.
I sat there in the physical presence but was replaying a video in my mind, oblivious to everything else, with my parents playing the principle parts, Rocky and Apollo (God rest them)
For some reason a memory of one of their many arguments fought its way to the forefront of my mind (I have no idea why)
Mum had just thrown a full plate of food in dad’s direction (Can’t remember why) he dodged it and the plate shattered against the wall.
I remember witnessing this as I stood by and watched.
I recall the white shards of porcelain covering the chair and carpet and the food sliding down the unfortunate wallpaper, a thick splodge in the middle surrounded by reddish, yellow and brownish splash marks. (Which, by the way, stayed there for weeks)
I could see it replaying before my eyes and wondered what my dads’ head have looked like if the plate had actually hit it’s target! That would have been a complicated, excuse riddled explanation to go through with the police if the worst had happened.
I remember standing very still and crying silently, wanting them to stop, sometimes wishing them to separate for the sake of everyone’s sanity!
I stood on the outer edge of that violent explosion and thought about how stupid they were. Why on earth did they stay together?
I always find myself asking that same question.
Because I was a witness to their incessant arguing and fighting, especially dad hitting mum, I have always had a strong dislike or even a hatred for violence, especially a man hitting a woman.
I know a child can’t turn love on and off for their parents, so of course I loved them, but I don’t love some of the memories they left me to deal with.
Moral of this story: Leave your children with memories of love and nothing more.