The Man in the Shadow

This is my story to tell and dare those with strong stomachs and gentle hearts to read. My story poses a lesson in what abuse may do to you if you foolishly give in.

I was born in Brooklyn, New York City on a cold snowy evening so I was told. It was inside of a mental institution that my mother conceived me. My hair color is brown with eyes of green. I weighed in at ten pounds even. The nurse said to mom, "Annette! You have a beautiful baby boy. He’s big for his age."

Mom said, "I don’t want him. Throw him into the garbage. I’d rather have a new doll to play with." The nurses assisted mom in rearing me. They would say, "Annette! Don’t you want to hold your baby? He is beautiful and is crying for your love." Mom replied, "That’s not my baby. I want a doll. Please give me a doll. You could sell him and buy me one."

My mother was thin like a tooth pick and measured five feet four inches. She had brunette color hair and hazel eyes. She would ask the nurse, "Is it a boy or a girl doll?" The nurses said, "It is a boy baby not a doll."

My mother was unable to comprehend and named me Saundra Moore on the birth certificate. Mom insisted I want my doll to wear pink clothes. I like pink. The nurses gave into her feelings.

Mother had series of nervous breakdowns of which many were violent. Mom tried to kill dad. One of the neighbors came to the rescue. They called 911 and said "One of our neighbors is holding a knife over her husbands throat. Please come quickly." They came in time to save dad and returned mom to the mental institution.

At the age of five I left the institution. Mom was given another chance to live outside the institution. She seemed to be more in control of her temper-tantrums.

One day when I was seven and grew tired of school children making fun of me. One young girl said, "You don’t know whether you’re a girl or boy" and laughed at me. A young boy said, "You’re one big sissy. You are dressed like a girl, have a girl name and yet you’re a boy. You’re just confused."

Mother one day put me in my place. She said, "Saundra! If I gave you that name I had a special reason. It’s not for you to question me. Do you understand me?"

Mom would say, "Saundra! Please pull down your bloomers. I want to check and make sure you are all right." She would feel and touch my genitals. I would say, "Mom! You’re tickling me. Please stop!"

Two weeks later mom was returned to the institution in a straight jacket. She once again attempted to kill dad, this time in his sleep. She woke dad up and had a sharp knife at his throat. I had come in and seen mom with the knife. I said, "Mom! What’re you doing to dad?" She dropped the knife and ran to her room and locked the door.

I lived with dad and felt more secure. Dad started to drink a lot. He became very moody. One day I said, "Dad! Why don’t you stop drinking that nasty stuff." Dad replied, "It makes me feel good inside. I’ve nothing to really live for." I said to dad, "Do you not care about me?" If you do then for my sake stop drinking."

He turned to me and said; "I don’t care about anyone right now not even myself." Before dad started to drink we had lots of fun together doing things, such as taking long walks, going to the movies and just watching television." Dad would say, "Joe! You are quite an active child."

I would reply, "It’s fun being with you, dad." Now that dad was on booze. I felt alone. There were nights I would sleep alone. Dad would be out visiting the neighborhood bars. No one my age wanted to play with me. The adults in the neighborhood thought I might be a little wacky myself.

One day I said to dad, "Do you know when mom is going to be coming home to us?" Dad gave me a dirty stare and said, "I hope never." He walked away.