Life Changes…suddenly


Have you ever had the desire to eavesdrop on a conversation because you wanted to hear people’s raw opinions on a delicate matter? It’s a sneaky way to get the truth. But at least you would know exactly how each person felt while you sat quietly in the next room pretending to do the imaginary. What’s the secret? Daddy was complete stranger until a few years ago.

Initially, when the Mommy described the Daddy she said, “He has tan almost olive skin, thick black curly hair, big brown almond-shaped eyes filled with rage, a small scar under his bottom lip and he’s about six feet three inches tall.He always wore a red and black lumber jacket, dark t-shirt, black jeans and heavy black boots. His musty cologne stained my skin.” Growing up the Daddy was never mentioned – not a word.But things change. And they did sometime around the girl’s 12th birthday.

The stranger learned he had a daughter. He was a daddy. Mommy faced Daddy in open court, again. And, the judge decided the rapist had no rights to his biological child. The testimony read, “He slammed my body against the brick wall. The depths of hell were in his black eyes. He ripped my flesh, warm blood dripped between my legs, as he pressed against the black and purple bruises on my thighs. Then, he bore inside of me. Tunneled through like one of those machines they use in construction. The 30 minutes of torture didn’t end there. Months later I carried his child. A child of violence. A child of hate. A child created without love. Formed in the back alley on pavement steeped with urine behind the restaurant on Friday April 18, 1986 @ 10:35 pm.  She moved inside my body growing, developing and nurturing while I visited my doctor to ensure her physical life would be whole, while my mental state collapsed. She was an innocent human being like me. She didn’t consent and neither did I.”

Children of rape are conceived on death row. “Abort them, get rid of it, quick swallow the morning after pill, you can’t have that child.” I’m sure there are more phases. An act of kindness is to kill, “it,” the unborn, a mercy killing. What is the quality of life going to be? No one wants the neighbors to find out. Society defines the unborn child as a freak of nature with the DNA of monster.

But that’s not true. You see, the girl went to school and became a nurse. She desired to care for others like how her mother cared for her. People always comment that she should be a model because she is six feet tall, thick jet black mane of hair and big almond eyes, just like her father. But the love in her heart resembles her mother. How many woman share this secret understanding?

I didn’t want to fill the story with stats. Rather, I just want one person in the world to pray. Pray that violent boys will be nurtured into loving men. And while we wait on bended knees remember, “Love covers a multitude of sins.”


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