I met my first husband while we were in high school. We hear about warning signs to look for violence in a person, but I wasn't raised in a violent home. I didn't know what the ''signs'' were. He threw a coke in my lap because he just felt like it. He slapped a hamburger out of my hand because I had the top of the bun facing me. Once when he came to my house, he had whelps on his back from where his dad had used the spit from a grill to hit him. His dad hit his mom, so he was no stranger to violence.
We graduated high school in 1968 and he joined the Air Force. We married in 1969 and I moved to another state to start our lives. Things started to change after the move. He would get mad if I spent “too much money” on groceries. He would then slap me. He was always sorry, and promised it wouldn't happen again.
We were transferred to another state for a year. Now he started backing me into corners while I was slapped or kicked. I was told if I hadn't made him mad, he wouldn't do things like that. So, I tried to be ''good'' and not make him angry. He was shipped to Thailand in 1971 and was gone for a year. When he came home, we went to Michigan for the last 6 months of his four year term.
He came home from Thailand and was drinking a lot. I got pregnant with our first child. This is where things changed again. I was kicked in the stomach - luckily it didn't hurt the baby. He complained I didn't write enough while he was gone. If dinner wasn’t on time, he would slap me. If he found dust on the top of the door jams, he would slap me. I was pregnant, I couldn't leave.
We moved back to Texas and got an apartment. Twice I had neighbors knock on the door to make sure everything was fine. When my daughter was born in 1973, he was there for her birth, then I didn't see him until it was time to go home. In 1973, when you had a baby, you stayed in the hospital for 3 days. So for those three days he was going to the bars and stayed drunk.
Things eased up a little after bringing her home, but not for long. Even while I was holding our baby, he would grab my hair and jerk my head back, or hit me from behind. Sometimes I was afraid I would drop her.
We moved to a larger apartment. I became pregnant with our second daughter. By this time, he would come home from work on Friday, change clothes, and go to the bar until early morning. He would come home to sleep, wake up and head back to the bars. This was our weekend. By this time, he started taking speed. He thought he could drink more but it caused more violence. I tried several times to leave but he wouldn't let me take my daughter with me, so I stayed.
We moved to a house. He became so out of control, even if we had intercourse he would have to masturbate before he could go to sleep. He would wake up and urinate in the corner of the bedroom for me to clean up. I remember him asking for an egg sandwich, but if I didn't cook it fast enough, he would throw it against the wall and demand another.
He was so drunk at a neighbor’s house, that he exposed himself. He came home from a bar with hickies on his neck while I was pregnant with my second daughter. When the girls were older, 7 and 10, he slapped one in the face because she didn't like something she was eating. He then jerked her up and told her she should have never been born.
I was told I was ugly, stupid and boring, and no one would want me but him. After you hear this for so long, you believe it. We were married for 16 years. He wrote two checks in that time period. I made his beer runs, ran his bath water, painted the house inside and out, went in the attic and under the house, and did all the yard work. The only thing I didn't know how to do was take care of a vehicle. I didn't get spending money because I didn't do anything to deserve it. We had one truck, so if there was a school function, the girls and I walked or relied on neighbors. We would go fishing and I would walk down from him, get out a calculator and figure out how I could make it on my $6.50 an hour and stay in the house.
I finally had enough. One day I went to work, borrowed a car, then met my dad at an attorney’s office. I filed for divorce and a restraining order. I drove back to work, finished my shift, and then went home. I worked days and he worked nights. When I got home I fixed his lunch and then went to the bank. I took my things from the safety deposit box, as well as half of the money in our checking account.
I came back home, fixed his lunch for work, kissed him good bye and sent him on his way. By then, my girls were home from school and I told them to pack what they needed for a week. My dad pulled up and we left. When he got to work, he was met by the attorney and served his papers. If I hadn't done it this way, I don't think I could have left.
I met and married my second husband in 1988. My girls were 12 and 15. The youngest one went to visit her dad. The oldest was babysitting, so she didn't go. He was drunk later that evening, and attempted to sexually assault her. The next morning, he asked her if anything had happened and she told him no.
Several weeks later, while spending time with my parents, she told my mother what had happened. My mother then told me. The next day we went to the police station and filed a report. My daughter didn't want to because, after all, that was still her dad. So that my daughter wouldn't have to go to a trial, we took the plea of 10 years probation and he was to have no contact with either of the girls. He died of a heart attack in 1990, having no contact with the girls or seeing his first grandchild.
