Part 2 - The Attempted Murder

At age four or five, my parents, newborn brother (whom I'll call Jake), and I moved to another location. My mom had finished bible college and was now certified to teach music in the public schools, which she did. My dad worked various odd jobs, from working at Dominoe's to being a dispatcher for the local sherriff's department, in order to help with the bills. My mom became the dominant member of the family while my dad simply stuck around because of my brother and me.

One night, when I was approximately five years of age, my dad forgot to make the bed when he left for work. Upon arriving home that evening, my mother became furious. She and my dad argued for several minutes, at which point the full fury of my mother's temper broke loose. She suddenly hollered out "I'll kill you, you *******!" and grabbed the nearest kitchen knife. My dad hesitated for only a split second before running into the bathroom, my mom hot on his heels. Dad slammed and locked the door, and my mom continued to pound on it for what seemed an eternity. I stood perhaps ten feet from her wailing at the top of my lungs. I remember thinking that my mom was going to kill my dad, and that scared me. I loved him, and I wanted him to live, but all I could do was stand there and cry. My mom, annoyed by my wailing, turned to me and told me to shut up, which I did to the best of my ability.

Thankfully, my dad escaped out the bathroom window, but not without my mom hearing him. She opened the sliding door that led outside and yelled for him to come inside. He didn't. Instead, he stood outside on an old stump for at least half an hour, giving my mom time to cool down. When he did come inside, he simply picked up the phone and dialed the police, but by the time they arrived, my mom had convinced him to lie and say he had overreacted. The officers looked at him, at my mom, and finally at me. One of them asked my mom why I was crying if nothing had happened. She told the officer I was simply afraid of their guns. He looked down at me and asked if that was true. I wanted so badly to say no, and to tell them all about what had happened. I didn't want to lie, as honesty is a value that was drilled into me not by example, but by force as a young child. I knew it was wrong to lie to anyone, especially a police officer, but as I contemplated telling the truth, my mom shot me a look that told me I'd better play along, or else. Considering her temper, and afraid for my own safety, I nodded to the officer, indicating my agreement with the lie. The officer then proceeded to explain that there was no reason to be afraid of their guns, as they are only used to protect innocent people like me. The officer assured me he was there to protect and not harm me. I listened politely, then watched them leave. The last thing I remember that night is lying in bed with that "sick-to-my-stomach" feeling I got from crying too much.

After that incident, I went back to living life as normal. I tried to push it from my mind, and became the normal, happy five year old my parents' friends knew. Only my Father and I knew the pain and despair tucked deep within.