Hell’s Front Gate
The house that I was born into was not a home, because a house that is a home is a harbour, a refuge and a very safe place for a child to be. A place where a child doesn’t have to live in constant fear and agony. What deterred this house from being a home was a miserable drunk who would fly into blind violent rages, spawned from his child’s most innocent mistakes. You know the kind of mistakes I’m talking about, the kind that every kid makes!
Punishment and discipline were swiftly meted out for these innocuous mistakes - with strong slaps across the kid’s face, his head slammed against walls at a quick pace and ultimately the kid was thrown in front of hells’ gate! This shameful indignation, belittling and outright hate did not stop there. Hours and hours were mandated to be spent for this child’s innocent mistakes in quiet contemplation in the dark and lonely recesses of a secluded closet, bitterly known to this child as hell’s front fate.
This shameful palpable cruelty was administered in this house, not as a secret - and yet absolutely no-one ever so much as attempted to intercede, to stop or rescue this poor desperate child placed in desolation for a child’s meagre mistakes!
No child should have to face and bear such punishment and solitude. Why did this miserable drunk hate this child so much and continue to hurt him so badly I asked myself? No answer has ever been tentatively found and these questions will hound me to my grave. Such punishment and treatment spawn and cultivate enormous deep-rooted seeds of hate.
And no matter the vast amount of years that have passed, they cannot begin to erase, eradicate nor abate these soul-wrenching childhood memories that are permeated in hate, that were experienced at the hands of that miserable drunk at hell’s front gate.
Wesley Purkey, Federal
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