Hiding From the Truth

When you hear the car door shut You know whose home You pretend to be asleep But he’s not fooled Trying to hide under the covers won’t save you from what he’s after He’ll take it from you He doesn’t know any better You are “his” after all You cringe through every minute, hoping it will be over soon Then, there’s the relief He’s passed out You’re free again, for a little while This was a good night There’ve certainly been worse The nights he arrives home while the kids are still awake These nights he gets his kicks at everyone else’s expense He has fun tickling the kids Perfectly harmless, you try to convince yourself You watch as he pins your daughter to the floor Sitting on top of her as he tickles her sides “I can’t breath! Mom, help!” she gasps You’re afraid to make it worse He laughs incessantly, while your daughter struggles under his weight “That’s enough,” you say in a calm but stern voice, hoping not to set him off He ignores you as always You turn and walk away, hoping he’ll soon tire of this game He runs out of steam five minutes later Your daughter learns that she’ll need to protect herself Next time she hears the car door shut She runs down the hall and locks herself in her room Is she safe? Are you? You anticipate what’s to come. You listen as he stumbles up the stairs And down the hall to her room You hear him try to open her door and then pound on it with his fist You picture your daughter huddled in her bed, petrified You imagine she’s thinking the same thing you think when he comes to your room “Go away. Please just go away. God, make him go away.” You hear his frustration build as he kicks his foot through the hollow core door He’s done, he’s pissed, he’s going to bed You fail to see the whole picture Your oldest daughter begins to “party” like dad Your middle child takes sanctuary in her room And, your son starts to experiment with self-mutilation We all have our coping mechanisms But, why are we so afraid to face the truth? Pretending there’s no problem, won’t make it go away Hiding from it, won’t make it better Dad suffers from depression His treatment of choice is the bottle He loves that bottle more than anyone or anything in the whole world How’s that bottle treatin’ you dear old dad? What misery will you hide from today? Whose joy will you steal? Whose hope will you crush? Isn’t it time to start facing the truth?