Think about the word family. It seems so simple. All of us come from one, at least at the very start of our journey on this planet. Some of us sustain those ties in deeply satisfying ways that last for many decades: rich emotional connection, nurture and succor, support in times of crisis, joy and celebration along the way. But for others, the ties are thin and strained; sometimes they snap. The word family emerged in the 15th century, derived from the Latin familia, which referred originally to the servants of a household. We’ve certainly come a long way since the 1600s. Or have we? As we hear from Jennifer Bristol, what family means to us can be fraught with complexity.
Jennifer Bristol is Development Director for the Women’s Resource Center in Newport, Rhode Island. She lives in the woods with her dog Riley, and longs for a day when all children can live without feat of things that go bump in the night.
I relocated my bed recently; it was close to the porch and a squirrel running across at night would wake me; thinking that the bar had let out and my father was home.
We grew up in RI. My parents were both smart, my father a well-known attorney and politician, my mother voted most likely to succeed. Our gene pool made us destined for greatness- athletes, homecoming queens, performers and scholar. If only we could sleep.
My father loved us, books, poetry and clam cakes- he loved alcohol more. Two drinks made him mellow; the next five not so much. And so it was he arrived home every night, beating my mother and anyone else in his way. And so it became that we anticipated those footsteps on the porch each night and each morning found us headed to school carrying within us the sound of fists on skin, and a colorful variety of bruises, some visible and some buried so deep it would take years to unveil their impact. In the 60s and 70s, there were limited places my mother could run to; my father was the attorney for the local police, the church suggested prayer (divorce a non-option), and her old fashioned Portuguese family hoped something would give.
I observe today’s public voices with amazement and dismay. I applaud the voices demanding equality, freedom and the right to live without fear. But I have to search social media for those voices raised up for the children who wake up in the night to save their mother or their father or whomever in their home is the target of violence. There are not enough voices yet. Is anyone out there? Because #loveshouldn’thurt.
As my mother’s family hoped, something did give. An unsuccessful suicide attempt (my mother’s) got my father out of the house. He got sober for two years before dying and we got to know him better. My siblings and I chose vocations that help others- USMC Colonel, lawyer, legal secretary, and non-profit executive, waging war and peace in equal measure against violence and atrocities too awful to name.
Moving my bed has made the nights easier. But it’s made me more aware and angry that the problem still exists. Somewhere out there every night there are mothers and children waiting in the dark, afraid. #metoo #turnthelightson #enddomesticviolence #whattheworldneedsnowislove. And a good night’s sleep.
