Gray clouds covered the skies. The window panes shook as the rumbling sounds of thunder drew near. I stood on the verandah and just stared at the heavens in anticipation of what was yet to come.

Suddenly, I heard a car door slam and tires screeched mercilessly on steamy asphalt. Even before I saw the figure, tension replaced my relaxed spirit. Reluctantly my eyes coldly followed the staggering man up the walk way. Daddy was home. His shirt, half way out of unzipped pants was soaked with perspiration. He conversed quietly with himself while gesticulating rapidly to make a point. As he approached the steps, I could smell stale liquor on his breath.

“Evening, daddy”. I muttered more to myself than to him. I almost thought my forced polite gesture went unheard until he grunted something back, I’m not quite sure what nor did I care. Without a glance in my direction, he staggered through the front door.

Then down came the rain, cooling the scorching road and distracting my angry thoughts. I listened to the synchronized beat of the rain as it danced on rooftops and watched as ripples grew wider on the paved walk way. After a while I sensed a presence watching me. The mild fragrance that was so very familiar mingled easily with the damp surroundings. And it was just right.

Mom stood in the doorway and smiled at me. Then she just stared through the crystal drops. I wanted so very much to comfort her, to take her in my arms and let her know that everything would be okay.

But would it? I was not sure I believed it myself. Suddenly I had so much to tell her. I spoke of everything and nothing. But it was working….as usual. She sat beside me, listened, nodded, burst into laughter right on cue. And she was happen again….for the moment. I reached over and touched her cheek and the same thought I have had for years flooded my brain - how could such a sweet and caring soul find love with the likes of my father? Had he changed over the years? I thought about asking Mom a million times but was so afraid…. afraid of hurting her feelings, of bringing forth memories best forgotten. Or maybe, I was afraid to know the truth.

As a child, I can remember bursting into tears every time a quarrel started at home all because of my father. He would stagger home from work, demand that his dinner be brought to him and every chance he got he would verbally abuse Mom. That was always a mistake on his part. My two older sisters and my brother would not stand for it, not one minute. Then the shouts came, each trying to outdo the other. And mommy would always step in and calmly remove her children from the scene.

And I would cry uncontrollably. I did not fully understand the uproars. All I knew was that I wanted my family in one place, under one roof. It was easy to love my siblings and most of all, my mother, because they showed love in return. I loved my father because I was told it was the right thing to do, and having him as part of the family seemed so important at the time.

I’m 18 years old now. My siblings have moved on, trying to make a life for themselves, secretly hoping never to live mommy’s life. Now the situation has become crystal clear…..the rented house we’ve lived in all my life, the unpaid bills, the opportunities missed.

While I was busy crying my eyes out, not wanting to belong to a broken home, my mother endured a lifetime of hurt and pain just to keep her family together. Just to keep her children sane. Now I understood why her happiest moments were with us.

As the rain eased I could hear daddy’s movements around the house. “Grace”! he barked Mom’s name, and she aged a thousand years right before my eyes. Slowly she took a deep long breath and moved across the verandah to the source of her pain. Tension once again shook my body. This time, I was way past the little girl who only knew how to cry. And because I was too angry to speak, tears gave way to expression. I felt ready to explode. No longer could I sit and listen. I almost lost my balance as I stood in rage.

It was no longer easy to sit behind the fence and watch passively from the side lines; to nod in agreement to other people’s opinion without having one for myself. Those days were long gone….it was my turn to be heard. I had had enough.