Posted by Lynn Rosenthal on February 02, 2010 at 09:00 AM EDT
For six months now, I have held the first-ever White House position dedicated to combating violence and sexual assault against women and continuing the important work of the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA). Every morning when I’ve walked into the White House, I’ve brought with me the stories of the many survivors I have worked with over the years. I’ve focused on raising the profile of violence against women issues across Federal Agencies, states, tribal communities, and localities; coordinating interagency collaboration on these issues; implementing victim assistance programs; and integrating these issues into Administration-wide programs such as the White House Fatherhood Initiative, the White House Council on Women and Girls, HUD’s fight against homelessness, and the Justice Department’s recent effort to better combat disproportionate violence in tribal communities.
Yesterday, I met with a group of 16 leaders of organizations that combat violence against women, provide resources for women who face domestic violence and sexual assault, and advocate for victims. During this meeting, I shared with these leaders the same information I am sharing with you -- information on how the White House, through the President’s FY 2011 budget, is making combating violence against women a real priority.
Violence Against Women Act as a Budget Priority
The FY 2011 budget will provide a record total of $730 million to combat violence against women -- a $130.5 million increase in funding from the previous fiscal year. The VAWA, passed in 1994, already provides thousands of victims with life-saving services, improvements in the criminal justice system and increased public awareness. The President’s FY 2011 budget not only continues this strong response, but bolsters current funding and responds to the emerging needs of communities.
Crime Victims Fund
The budget provides a $100 million increase from the Crime Victims Fund, specifically for emergency shelter, transitional housing, and other local services for domestic violence and sexual assault victims. By focusing on both immediate safety and long-term housing assistance, we can help ensure that victims don’t have to choose between living with abuse or becoming homeless. Furthermore, the Crime Victims Fund does not consist of a single taxpayer dollar; it is self-sustaining and supported by criminal fines, forfeited bail bonds, and penalties for Federal offenders. In addition to a fund increase from the Crime Victims Fund, the FY 2011 budget provides $140 million for battered women’s shelters and services, an increase of $10 million from the previous fiscal year.
Victim Resources and Legal Support
The $730 million also provides vital funding for victim resources. The National Domestic Violence Hotline and Teen Dating Violence Helpline are receiving increased funding of $4.5 million to ensure every call is answered. The budget also provides $30 million in VAWA funding for victims of sexual assault -- a $15 million increase from the previous year -- which will be utilized by the Sexual Assault Services Program to provide crisis intervention, advocacy within the criminal justice system, support during forensic exams, and other related assistance.
The FY 2011 budget bolsters legal support for domestic violence and sexual assault victims by providing $50 million in VAWA funding for legal assistance for victims, a $9 million increase from the previous year. The Civil Legal Assistance Program will use this funding to help victims more easily obtain protective orders and other assistance available through the court system.
To build upon the above improvements in the criminal justice system, the budget also provides $188 million in STOP grants that provide better training, improved data collection, specialized law enforcement and prosecution units, and courts specialized for domestic violence and sexual assault cases.
Support Across the Board
Ending domestic violence and sexual assault is a priority for President Obama and Vice President Biden. I’ve written about numerous fund increases and initiatives that are testaments to this fact. In my meeting yesterday, the White House’s commitment to violence against women issues was clear -- we are increasing support for women across the board.
Lynn Rosenthal is the White House Advisor on Violence Against Women
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
FACES OF HOPE: EMIG FAMILY
The Story of a Family Who Inspired the Creation of the Purple Ribbon Fund for Children and Camp Butterfly
"On April 26, 2007 our lives changed forever. It was the worst phone call we could ever receive. Eight year old Anthony crying "Nam, I need you now, my dad shot my mom" At that moment it never occurred to us that she was dead. My first thoughts were to get her help, and get to Anthony and Jillian, his 3 year- old sister. That wasn't the case. Our second born daughter was shot and killed by her husband, who then committed suicide, with Anthony watching. What trauma for a child to suffer.
We have suffered so many losses through this tragedy. Our daughter and their mother gone forever. The children can only visit her gravesite. It is a very unpleasant task to take them to the cemetery. We lost the joy and privilege of being their grandparents. We now have to play the role of parents and that changes everything.
It is so hard to put into words the affect this has had on us all as a family. We lost our daughter, Anthony and Jillian lost their mother, and our other two daughters have lost their sister. Although 3 years have passed, the pain remains.
Anthony has said that he would like to get to know other kids who have lost their parents like he did. He feels like he and Jillian are alone in that respect. We were very excited to hear about Camp Butterfly and the opportunity for the kids to meet other kids who have lost their parents to domestic violence.
As grandparents raising these children, it would be great to be able to share our feelings and frustrations with others who truly understand what we are experiencing. Purple Ribbon Council's Camp Butterfly would be that place. Domestic violence is horrific and it affects so many people. The effects of domestic violence homicide are forever.
We didn't think to ask for help, we just thought we had to do it all ourselves and go on with our lives. We are so grateful for the Purple Ribbon Fund for Children and the support this special fund has provided to Anthony and Jillian. This is a blessing to us.”
Glen & Perry Emig
Grandparents of Jillian, age 7
and Anthony, age 10
Bethlehem, PA
"On April 26, 2007 our lives changed forever. It was the worst phone call we could ever receive. Eight year old Anthony crying "Nam, I need you now, my dad shot my mom" At that moment it never occurred to us that she was dead. My first thoughts were to get her help, and get to Anthony and Jillian, his 3 year- old sister. That wasn't the case. Our second born daughter was shot and killed by her husband, who then committed suicide, with Anthony watching. What trauma for a child to suffer.
We have suffered so many losses through this tragedy. Our daughter and their mother gone forever. The children can only visit her gravesite. It is a very unpleasant task to take them to the cemetery. We lost the joy and privilege of being their grandparents. We now have to play the role of parents and that changes everything.
It is so hard to put into words the affect this has had on us all as a family. We lost our daughter, Anthony and Jillian lost their mother, and our other two daughters have lost their sister. Although 3 years have passed, the pain remains.
Anthony has said that he would like to get to know other kids who have lost their parents like he did. He feels like he and Jillian are alone in that respect. We were very excited to hear about Camp Butterfly and the opportunity for the kids to meet other kids who have lost their parents to domestic violence.
As grandparents raising these children, it would be great to be able to share our feelings and frustrations with others who truly understand what we are experiencing. Purple Ribbon Council's Camp Butterfly would be that place. Domestic violence is horrific and it affects so many people. The effects of domestic violence homicide are forever.
We didn't think to ask for help, we just thought we had to do it all ourselves and go on with our lives. We are so grateful for the Purple Ribbon Fund for Children and the support this special fund has provided to Anthony and Jillian. This is a blessing to us.”
Glen & Perry Emig
Grandparents of Jillian, age 7
and Anthony, age 10
Bethlehem, PA
The New York City 2009 Annual Domestic Violence Fact Sheet
http://www.nyc.gov/html/ocdv/downloads/pdf/2009_annual_DVFactSheet.pdf
During the last eight years (1/1/2002 through 12/31/2009), family related homicides decreased by 20%.
FAMILY RELATED HOMICIDES*
There were 61 family related homicides in 2009.
o 11 victims were killed in the Bronx.
o 19 victims were killed in Brooklyn.
o 9 victims were killed in Manhattan.
o 19 victims were killed in Queens.
o 3 victims were killed in Staten Island.
o 67% of these cases had no known prior police contact.
o 87% of these cases had no current order of protection.
*Data is preliminary and subject to further revision by NYPD. Family related homicide includes intimate partners as well as homicide committed by other family members and includes children who were killed as a result of family violence.
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE EMERGENCY SHELTER*
There are 2,144, domestic violence emergency shelter beds citywide, a 35% increase since January 2002.
*Statistics provided by the Human Resources Administration
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE CALLS FOR ASSISTANCE*
Police responded to 250,349 domestic violence incidents in 2009; this averages to over 650 incidents per day. In addition, NYPD’s Domestic Violence Unit conducted 69,188 home visits in 2009, a 79% increase since 2002.
In 2009, the City’s Domestic Violence Hotline advocates answered 140,985 calls, averaging more than 380 calls per day. In 2008, 134,903 calls were answered.
* Statistics provided by NYPD and Safe Horizon
TEEN ABUSE
Since its inception in 2005 through December 31, 2009, the New York City Healthy Relationship Training Academy of the Mayor’s Office to Combat Domestic Violence has reached 11,561 young people through 596 peer education workshops. The Academy has also partnered with the New York City Housing Authority, the Administration for Children’s Services, and the Department of Juvenile Justice to educate both young people and staff about healthy relationships.
In 2009, 680 teens called the City’s Domestic Violence Hotline requesting shelter.*
* Statistics provided by Safe Horizon
PROJECT H.E.A.L. (Hospital Emergency Assistance Link)
All 11 City public hospitals have digital cameras that document injuries and Domestic Violence Coordinators who assist victims and connect them with social and legal services.
NEW YORK CITY FAMILY JUSTICE CENTER, BROOKLYN
Since opening in July 2005 through December 31, 2009, the New York City Family Justice in Brooklyn has served 28,451 new clients seeking domestic violence services and 5,344 children were supervised in the Center’s Children’s Room, Margaret’s Place. An average of almost 1,500 client visits are recorded each month – this number includes both first-time and repeat visits. There have been 58,603 adult client visits to the Center since it opened.
NEW YORK CITY FAMILY JUSTICE CENTER, QUEENS
Since opening in July 2008 through December 31, 2009, the New York City Family Justice Center in Queens has served 5,349 new clients seeking domestic violence services and 1,184 children were supervised in the Center's Children's Room, Margaret’s Place. An average of almost 750 client visits are recorded each month – this number includes both first-time and repeat visits. There have been 12,654 client visits to the Center since it opened.
If you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship, call 911 for emergencies; call NYC’s 24-hour Domestic Violence Hotline at
1-800-621-HOPE (4673) TTY: 1- 866-604-5350 or 3-1-1 for general City services information. Help is available in all languages. Callers will
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE FACT SHEET CALENDAR YEAR 2009
Michael R. Bloomberg, Mayor City of New York Yolanda B. Jimenez, Commissioner
During the last eight years (1/1/2002 through 12/31/2009), family related homicides decreased by 20%.
FAMILY RELATED HOMICIDES*
There were 61 family related homicides in 2009.
o 11 victims were killed in the Bronx.
o 19 victims were killed in Brooklyn.
o 9 victims were killed in Manhattan.
o 19 victims were killed in Queens.
o 3 victims were killed in Staten Island.
o 67% of these cases had no known prior police contact.
o 87% of these cases had no current order of protection.
*Data is preliminary and subject to further revision by NYPD. Family related homicide includes intimate partners as well as homicide committed by other family members and includes children who were killed as a result of family violence.
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE EMERGENCY SHELTER*
There are 2,144, domestic violence emergency shelter beds citywide, a 35% increase since January 2002.
*Statistics provided by the Human Resources Administration
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE CALLS FOR ASSISTANCE*
Police responded to 250,349 domestic violence incidents in 2009; this averages to over 650 incidents per day. In addition, NYPD’s Domestic Violence Unit conducted 69,188 home visits in 2009, a 79% increase since 2002.
In 2009, the City’s Domestic Violence Hotline advocates answered 140,985 calls, averaging more than 380 calls per day. In 2008, 134,903 calls were answered.
* Statistics provided by NYPD and Safe Horizon
TEEN ABUSE
Since its inception in 2005 through December 31, 2009, the New York City Healthy Relationship Training Academy of the Mayor’s Office to Combat Domestic Violence has reached 11,561 young people through 596 peer education workshops. The Academy has also partnered with the New York City Housing Authority, the Administration for Children’s Services, and the Department of Juvenile Justice to educate both young people and staff about healthy relationships.
In 2009, 680 teens called the City’s Domestic Violence Hotline requesting shelter.*
* Statistics provided by Safe Horizon
PROJECT H.E.A.L. (Hospital Emergency Assistance Link)
All 11 City public hospitals have digital cameras that document injuries and Domestic Violence Coordinators who assist victims and connect them with social and legal services.
NEW YORK CITY FAMILY JUSTICE CENTER, BROOKLYN
Since opening in July 2005 through December 31, 2009, the New York City Family Justice in Brooklyn has served 28,451 new clients seeking domestic violence services and 5,344 children were supervised in the Center’s Children’s Room, Margaret’s Place. An average of almost 1,500 client visits are recorded each month – this number includes both first-time and repeat visits. There have been 58,603 adult client visits to the Center since it opened.
NEW YORK CITY FAMILY JUSTICE CENTER, QUEENS
Since opening in July 2008 through December 31, 2009, the New York City Family Justice Center in Queens has served 5,349 new clients seeking domestic violence services and 1,184 children were supervised in the Center's Children's Room, Margaret’s Place. An average of almost 750 client visits are recorded each month – this number includes both first-time and repeat visits. There have been 12,654 client visits to the Center since it opened.
If you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship, call 911 for emergencies; call NYC’s 24-hour Domestic Violence Hotline at
1-800-621-HOPE (4673) TTY: 1- 866-604-5350 or 3-1-1 for general City services information. Help is available in all languages. Callers will
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE FACT SHEET CALENDAR YEAR 2009
Michael R. Bloomberg, Mayor City of New York Yolanda B. Jimenez, Commissioner
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Living in Limbo
It has been over 3 months since I last wrote here. Many things have happened. Good and well, not so good. Mostly good though. Domestic Violence awareness is heightening in my place of work due to a wonderful event that I took part in called, "Poetry In Purple". You guessed it. Poets and other artists gathering together to raise awareness about this ugly social disease of domestic abuse. (the magazine is coming soon). There is so much to say about the show but the most important part is that hearts were moved, tears were shed and victims are coming forth more than before to break their silence and get on the road to becoming survivors. If I can use my life to help one person save their life, my job is done.
I was asked to speak at a prestigious university at a conference filled with judges, the most experienced experts in the field and fellow survivors. It was a spiritual experience as I bonded with the other survivors. It was an immediate unspoken love. It's hard to explain but that is the best I can do to describe the kinship I felt with them and the experts. People kept praising me for enduring what I had to endure, witnessing my father constantly abuse my mother but I didn't see the need. This was the life that was handed to me and it was all I knew, so it was somewhat normal to me. Honestly, I did not really see the extent of the dysfunctionality of my childhood and adolescenthood until now. The only way I was able to survive and without self-medicating myself was my relationship with God.
God is a real person to me. My father. I always felt love from God shining down all over me, embracing me. Everytime I would ask for a sign that he loved me, he was patient enough with me to show me. He really is Love. He has protected me through the roughest of times and led me, holding my hand, down a path of peace of mind. Even though I would feel like the lowest thing on planet Earth, he would always assure me that I am special and beautiful and needed to endure and survive. Now I know that I have experienced all that I have in order to help others like me. Orphans of domestic violence who have been forgotten by society. This is why I answered the call of the Purple Ribbon Council to head up a support group for kids who have lost a parent/s to domestic violence called The Butterfly Club. I know it is God's will that this program gets off its feet and sprouts wings so I feel honored to be used as a tool by God to make it happen.
Life for me right now is fulfilling for the above reasons but I am also, disappointed, fearful and downright confused about the recent developments involving the status of my father. He was released to a deportation holding facility in August. For more than a decade, my family and I have been assured that he would be deported to his country of birth. We rested our hopes on this and so this gave us peace of mind. But this past Thursday, December 3rd, a relative was informed that my father would be released here in our hometown that very same day. Of course we were all beyond shocked. Immediately I reverted to my 15 year old state when my mom died-the uncontrollable cracking of the knuckles returned, uncontrollable leg shaking, folding my arms in front of me desperately for protection. I am sooooo confused. So now the family has to get Orders of Protection and so on and so forth. I will be contacting my local politicians on Monday because the reason for his release is apalling. My father's country of birth refused to send travel documents for him to return. Basically, they don't want him. So America simply releases him to the public? CRAZY!!!
I don't know what or who my father is now, nor am I interested. I do hope that he has truly accepted God in his life. But that is his business. I have to go on what I remember of him. Besides being a murder, he was a manipulating, calculating, stalker who fed off of fear and intimidation. I have to protect myself and my siblings.
This situation is too big for me to handle emotionally. When we are having difficult emotions and we are not aware of how to channel them, we almost always release the frustration on those around us, those who we love. This is causing me turmoil in my life. But I do believe that if someone is meant to be with you and truly loves you, they would muster up staying power and try to be there for you. It's so hard when someone cannot or will not stretch their mind to understand what you are going through. It doesn't take mental prowess to do this. It takes love.
I feel like I'm in limbo....
I was asked to speak at a prestigious university at a conference filled with judges, the most experienced experts in the field and fellow survivors. It was a spiritual experience as I bonded with the other survivors. It was an immediate unspoken love. It's hard to explain but that is the best I can do to describe the kinship I felt with them and the experts. People kept praising me for enduring what I had to endure, witnessing my father constantly abuse my mother but I didn't see the need. This was the life that was handed to me and it was all I knew, so it was somewhat normal to me. Honestly, I did not really see the extent of the dysfunctionality of my childhood and adolescenthood until now. The only way I was able to survive and without self-medicating myself was my relationship with God.
God is a real person to me. My father. I always felt love from God shining down all over me, embracing me. Everytime I would ask for a sign that he loved me, he was patient enough with me to show me. He really is Love. He has protected me through the roughest of times and led me, holding my hand, down a path of peace of mind. Even though I would feel like the lowest thing on planet Earth, he would always assure me that I am special and beautiful and needed to endure and survive. Now I know that I have experienced all that I have in order to help others like me. Orphans of domestic violence who have been forgotten by society. This is why I answered the call of the Purple Ribbon Council to head up a support group for kids who have lost a parent/s to domestic violence called The Butterfly Club. I know it is God's will that this program gets off its feet and sprouts wings so I feel honored to be used as a tool by God to make it happen.
Life for me right now is fulfilling for the above reasons but I am also, disappointed, fearful and downright confused about the recent developments involving the status of my father. He was released to a deportation holding facility in August. For more than a decade, my family and I have been assured that he would be deported to his country of birth. We rested our hopes on this and so this gave us peace of mind. But this past Thursday, December 3rd, a relative was informed that my father would be released here in our hometown that very same day. Of course we were all beyond shocked. Immediately I reverted to my 15 year old state when my mom died-the uncontrollable cracking of the knuckles returned, uncontrollable leg shaking, folding my arms in front of me desperately for protection. I am sooooo confused. So now the family has to get Orders of Protection and so on and so forth. I will be contacting my local politicians on Monday because the reason for his release is apalling. My father's country of birth refused to send travel documents for him to return. Basically, they don't want him. So America simply releases him to the public? CRAZY!!!
I don't know what or who my father is now, nor am I interested. I do hope that he has truly accepted God in his life. But that is his business. I have to go on what I remember of him. Besides being a murder, he was a manipulating, calculating, stalker who fed off of fear and intimidation. I have to protect myself and my siblings.
This situation is too big for me to handle emotionally. When we are having difficult emotions and we are not aware of how to channel them, we almost always release the frustration on those around us, those who we love. This is causing me turmoil in my life. But I do believe that if someone is meant to be with you and truly loves you, they would muster up staying power and try to be there for you. It's so hard when someone cannot or will not stretch their mind to understand what you are going through. It doesn't take mental prowess to do this. It takes love.
I feel like I'm in limbo....
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Let the Games Begin
My sister and I occupied the biggest bedroom next to our grandmother’s master bedroom. The guest bedroom next to ours was half the size but still overlooked the backyard where my grandmother grew her tomatoes, string beans, mint leaves and other vegetation. For a Brooklyn garden, it was pretty impressive. My grandmother was no doubt blessed with a green thumb. Anyway, when Eileen moved in, she approached my sister (age 10).
"The bedroom next to your room is nice. Would you like to move in there?"
My sister quickly answered, "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"That bedroom is too big for you especially since Nicole moved out. What are you going to do with all that space?!"
"I don't want to leave this room." My sister said sternly.
After school the next day, my sister came home to find all of her belongings moved to the guest room. It could only hold bunk beds. When I came home a couple days later, my sister blamed me for the reason why we got pushed to the smaller room. It was okay because I already blamed myself which was fast becoming a habit of mine. My absence although it was only for a few days caused us to lose the big room. I was still very grateful we had a place to rest our heads; even if it was a piece of foam instead of real mattresses.
Eileen offered my sister and I a listening ear. She came like an angel wanting to make ‘peace’. She seemed to be there for us in the beginning. When I didn’t want to see a child psychologist at the courts anymore because the atmosphere was so cold, she worked it out so we could each see our own individual psychologists in a warmer environment. She took my sister and I clothes shopping now and then, stressing that we are young ladies now and we needed to look the part. She made us think that she was doing this out of her own pocket but as I found out later, she would take the receipts to my grandmother demanding the money back and then some. My grandmother would give her the money from our mutual funds. My Aunt actually had free reign to our accounts. Steadily my grandmother would give Aunt Eileen more and more allowances and control of my siblings and I.
When mail would come for me, I would find that it was more difficult than usual to open because the glue was especially sticky. My sister revealed to me that aunt Eileen would boil a pot of water, not for tea but to strategically place my letter over the steam to loosen the glue, read my mail and re-glue it before I came home. I don't know how many letters must have been delivered to me but never reached me because aunt Eileen had first dibs. What was her intention? I didn't know at the time. Then my failing college grades would be mailed to the house and before I knew them, my grandmother would yell at me, calling me a failure as soon as I walked through the door.
"Of course I was failing my grades after my first year in college. I couldn't CONCENTRATE!" And after begging for money from my own funds over and over again and being turned down by my grandmother and aunt, I couldn't buy books. I had to resort to asking classmates to borrow their books for a few minutes to make copies to study for the next class.
I found out that when I hit age 19, my grandmother and aunt were no longer receiving Social Security checks for me anymore so basically, I was no longer welcomed. My sister would later see the same dynamic when she was on her way to becoming 19.
They would harass her, gossipping about her to other relatives and "friends" of the family. One evening when our grandmother was out of town on vacation, our step grandfather locked my sister out of the house and despite her franticly knocking the door and ringing the bell, he refused to get out of his bed to open the door. So my sister, bold and determined as ever, called the police for help. They tried ringing the doorbell too but to no avail. At the first attempt to kick the door down, the step grandfather appeared as if by a miracle. He received a warning from the cops. Of course he then proceeded to contact our grandmother. She then contacted all relatives and my sister was blamed for embarassing visit from the authorities.
At 18, Natasha was told to leave. I guess they saw the need to give it a head start with her since she was more of a fighter than I was. My fiery, determined sister refused, informing them that she would move on her own accord when she was good and ready. They kept trying to throw her out and she kept her stance. Aunt Eileen went as far as to sit my sister's boyfriend down while he waited for her to get ready for their date and tell him how mentally sick she was and he would do well to drop her as a girlfriend before she hurts him. Natasha's boyfriend relayed this sorry attempt by aunt Eileen to break them up.
My sister eventually moved out when she felt fit to move at age 21. My grandmother was not as hard on my little brother as my sister and I so he was allowed to stay when he too turned 19. I am sure the fact that Aunt Eileen moved out by that time had something to do with hit.
Anyway, my aunt did lots of things to drive me out of the house. On top of all the other insults, my grandmother started calling me a thief and a liar. I couldn't believe this. It came from left field and it was so not me. I wondered why she added these new names to her bag of tricks. Then one day, my grandmother, "aka" the first world wide web blurted out, "You think I don't know that you go inside of my file cabinet in my bedroom, taking my money?! Stay out of my bedroom!"
So she thought I was stealing money out of her bedroom. No wonder my step grand father would follow me when I went upstairs and periodicaly peer into my bedroom when I was upstairs alone. I even tried to put a lock on my bedroom door and my grandmother yelled at me. "This is my house, not yours! When you get your own house, you can put locks on your door!" Of course aunt Eileene had a lock on her door but I guess that was for me. At this point, my grandmother even locked her door down with three locks everytime she went downstairs.
It turns out that peaceful aunty Eileene was the one breaking into my grandmother's file cabinet, taking money and her personal info such as her social security number. She slyly told my grandmother that she witnessed me breaking into the cabinet and of course she believed her. My grandmother trusted Eileene so much that she allowed her to file taxes and claim my siblings and I as her dependents so she could collect the money. (She continued to file for us even as adults until the IRS caught up to her) What my grandmother didn't know until very recently was that for years, good auntie Eileen used her info to open up credit cards in her name which she shot up to the point of no return.
Well I eventually moved out of the house officially when I was 19 to my aunts delight. She was victorious - one down, two more to go. I really wanted to stay with my siblings but I couldn't take the harassment anymore. My intention was to continue with school, work hard to finish, go out and make money so I could support myself and my brother and sister.
When I would return home to steadily pick up my belongings, I noticed my little sister becoming more and more hostile towards me. I chalked it up as puberty. She would talk back to me and just seemed angry at me all the time. She even started to belittle me with her sharp tongue. I didn't understand until speaking to my sister recently. After I moved out, my grandmother and aunt Eileene would constantly tell her that I didn't love her or our brother. They made her believe that I left because I wanted to get away from them. How horrible. These kids lost both their parents in one night less than three years prior and here they were making them believe that the only person that they looked upon as a mother did not love them. My cousins would also chime in convincing my sister that I hated her. I wondered why everytime I came over to the house to take them to the museum or movies my grandmother would tell me to ask my aunt for permission. When I would suck it up and ask her, I would always get, No. You're not responsible enough. I kept on going to my grandmother's house and I kept on getting shot down until I eventually gave up. My siblings never knew that I would come over to take them out. This is another fact that only came to life very recently as we had a heart to heart to heart. Communication is very important.
Aunt Eileene did some really despicable things to us. Too many to number but what she did next really hurt me for years to come and to this day, I still can't hold back the tears when I think about it.
"The bedroom next to your room is nice. Would you like to move in there?"
My sister quickly answered, "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"That bedroom is too big for you especially since Nicole moved out. What are you going to do with all that space?!"
"I don't want to leave this room." My sister said sternly.
After school the next day, my sister came home to find all of her belongings moved to the guest room. It could only hold bunk beds. When I came home a couple days later, my sister blamed me for the reason why we got pushed to the smaller room. It was okay because I already blamed myself which was fast becoming a habit of mine. My absence although it was only for a few days caused us to lose the big room. I was still very grateful we had a place to rest our heads; even if it was a piece of foam instead of real mattresses.
Eileen offered my sister and I a listening ear. She came like an angel wanting to make ‘peace’. She seemed to be there for us in the beginning. When I didn’t want to see a child psychologist at the courts anymore because the atmosphere was so cold, she worked it out so we could each see our own individual psychologists in a warmer environment. She took my sister and I clothes shopping now and then, stressing that we are young ladies now and we needed to look the part. She made us think that she was doing this out of her own pocket but as I found out later, she would take the receipts to my grandmother demanding the money back and then some. My grandmother would give her the money from our mutual funds. My Aunt actually had free reign to our accounts. Steadily my grandmother would give Aunt Eileen more and more allowances and control of my siblings and I.
When mail would come for me, I would find that it was more difficult than usual to open because the glue was especially sticky. My sister revealed to me that aunt Eileen would boil a pot of water, not for tea but to strategically place my letter over the steam to loosen the glue, read my mail and re-glue it before I came home. I don't know how many letters must have been delivered to me but never reached me because aunt Eileen had first dibs. What was her intention? I didn't know at the time. Then my failing college grades would be mailed to the house and before I knew them, my grandmother would yell at me, calling me a failure as soon as I walked through the door.
"Of course I was failing my grades after my first year in college. I couldn't CONCENTRATE!" And after begging for money from my own funds over and over again and being turned down by my grandmother and aunt, I couldn't buy books. I had to resort to asking classmates to borrow their books for a few minutes to make copies to study for the next class.
I found out that when I hit age 19, my grandmother and aunt were no longer receiving Social Security checks for me anymore so basically, I was no longer welcomed. My sister would later see the same dynamic when she was on her way to becoming 19.
They would harass her, gossipping about her to other relatives and "friends" of the family. One evening when our grandmother was out of town on vacation, our step grandfather locked my sister out of the house and despite her franticly knocking the door and ringing the bell, he refused to get out of his bed to open the door. So my sister, bold and determined as ever, called the police for help. They tried ringing the doorbell too but to no avail. At the first attempt to kick the door down, the step grandfather appeared as if by a miracle. He received a warning from the cops. Of course he then proceeded to contact our grandmother. She then contacted all relatives and my sister was blamed for embarassing visit from the authorities.
At 18, Natasha was told to leave. I guess they saw the need to give it a head start with her since she was more of a fighter than I was. My fiery, determined sister refused, informing them that she would move on her own accord when she was good and ready. They kept trying to throw her out and she kept her stance. Aunt Eileen went as far as to sit my sister's boyfriend down while he waited for her to get ready for their date and tell him how mentally sick she was and he would do well to drop her as a girlfriend before she hurts him. Natasha's boyfriend relayed this sorry attempt by aunt Eileen to break them up.
My sister eventually moved out when she felt fit to move at age 21. My grandmother was not as hard on my little brother as my sister and I so he was allowed to stay when he too turned 19. I am sure the fact that Aunt Eileen moved out by that time had something to do with hit.
Anyway, my aunt did lots of things to drive me out of the house. On top of all the other insults, my grandmother started calling me a thief and a liar. I couldn't believe this. It came from left field and it was so not me. I wondered why she added these new names to her bag of tricks. Then one day, my grandmother, "aka" the first world wide web blurted out, "You think I don't know that you go inside of my file cabinet in my bedroom, taking my money?! Stay out of my bedroom!"
So she thought I was stealing money out of her bedroom. No wonder my step grand father would follow me when I went upstairs and periodicaly peer into my bedroom when I was upstairs alone. I even tried to put a lock on my bedroom door and my grandmother yelled at me. "This is my house, not yours! When you get your own house, you can put locks on your door!" Of course aunt Eileene had a lock on her door but I guess that was for me. At this point, my grandmother even locked her door down with three locks everytime she went downstairs.
It turns out that peaceful aunty Eileene was the one breaking into my grandmother's file cabinet, taking money and her personal info such as her social security number. She slyly told my grandmother that she witnessed me breaking into the cabinet and of course she believed her. My grandmother trusted Eileene so much that she allowed her to file taxes and claim my siblings and I as her dependents so she could collect the money. (She continued to file for us even as adults until the IRS caught up to her) What my grandmother didn't know until very recently was that for years, good auntie Eileen used her info to open up credit cards in her name which she shot up to the point of no return.
Well I eventually moved out of the house officially when I was 19 to my aunts delight. She was victorious - one down, two more to go. I really wanted to stay with my siblings but I couldn't take the harassment anymore. My intention was to continue with school, work hard to finish, go out and make money so I could support myself and my brother and sister.
When I would return home to steadily pick up my belongings, I noticed my little sister becoming more and more hostile towards me. I chalked it up as puberty. She would talk back to me and just seemed angry at me all the time. She even started to belittle me with her sharp tongue. I didn't understand until speaking to my sister recently. After I moved out, my grandmother and aunt Eileene would constantly tell her that I didn't love her or our brother. They made her believe that I left because I wanted to get away from them. How horrible. These kids lost both their parents in one night less than three years prior and here they were making them believe that the only person that they looked upon as a mother did not love them. My cousins would also chime in convincing my sister that I hated her. I wondered why everytime I came over to the house to take them to the museum or movies my grandmother would tell me to ask my aunt for permission. When I would suck it up and ask her, I would always get, No. You're not responsible enough. I kept on going to my grandmother's house and I kept on getting shot down until I eventually gave up. My siblings never knew that I would come over to take them out. This is another fact that only came to life very recently as we had a heart to heart to heart. Communication is very important.
Aunt Eileene did some really despicable things to us. Too many to number but what she did next really hurt me for years to come and to this day, I still can't hold back the tears when I think about it.
Enter The Dragon...Lady
Seventeen was a goal age for me since I was ten. I vowed to myself that I would be a successful child writing prodigy by the age of seventeen. I saw myself sitting in front of Matt Lauer, being interviewed about my latest book. This is why I wrote so many poems and stories until my mother died when I was fifteen. Although my circumstances changed drastically, seventeen became the age I made a resolve not to be anyone’s punching bag anymore.
My grandmother continued my mother’s over-protective spirit so I was hardly outside of the house. I was seventeen living in New York City and I hadn’t even ridden the train by myself. I made up my mind to get on the train for the first time alone. My destination? Newark, N.J. where a Jehovah’s Witness family that I knew lived. When I told my grandmother, she had a conniption. She stood by the kitchen door that led to the backyard and started yelling at me, asking me if I was crazy. I told her that I’m going to see my friends regardless if she likes it or not. My step-grandfather, as he sat in his sad memory foam, egged her on. Then, as I can remember crystal clear as day, my grandmother screamed, “Then I hope a train runs over you!” I can’t say that I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing. The words just made no sense but they cut me but not deep enough to stop me from venturing beyond the house. I wanted to travel to Newark even more so. I told her that was a very horrible thing to say, then I left.
Reading subway maps and signs, I learned, is not difficult. On the train ride I thought about my grandmother's remark, "I hope a train runs over you", and I walowed in the pain that I felt. Losing my parents and being criticized and called names by the people who were supposed to love me, hurt me so much. the emotional pain became physical pain. This is how you know you are being subjected to too much. When the emotional pain passes that thresh hold and grips your bones and joints and affects your breathing. Stress is a hell of a thing.
I wallowed so much in my own pain as an adolescent that I forgot the pain that my grandmother must have been going through to. Her doctor prescribed her sleeping pills because she couldn't sleep at night on her own since her first daughter was killed. As I look back, I realize that she blamed me for her daughter's death because my father wasn't there to vent out her anger to. She picked at me and criticized me alot because she was in pain and needed someone to transfer that pain to. I don't think my grandmother meant any harm. She was just caught up in the un-naturalness of it all. She was also from the old school which was a bit rougher, so even before my mom died, when she would babysit me as a young child, I could feel the love from her beyond the abrasiveness. I think she couldn't believe that she allowed, "I hope a train runs over you", to slip out of her mouth so she had to lie to herself so she could believe she never said it. When she told me that I was the reason my mom died, she had tears in her eyes. It was the pain talking. And pain, anger, grief and hurt is not articulate.
Anyway, I found my way to my friend’s house, stayed a couple of hours and made my way back home. When I returned late that evening, I got a call from one of the Borg. “Why did you go to New Jersey without permission and why did you come back so late?” I explained that I was seventeen and I didn’t see anything wrong with taking the train to visit friends. Then I told my aunt, in front of my grandmother and step-grandfather, “Do you know that she told me that she wishes a train ran over me?” At that my grandmother was up in arms. “Nooooo! I never said that! She’s a liar!” My aunt on the line then asked me why I was lying on my grandmother. I kept on insisting I wasn’t lying. I even asked the step-grandfather, “You were right here. Didn’t you hear her say that a train should run over me?” He coyly turned his head away from me. If ever I didn’t think I was alone in this world, this was the moment that I did.
After that, I spent alot of time away from the stresses of the house. I got closer to the Jehovah's Witness woman who was assigned to study the Bible with me. She came from an abusive home in the West Indies and thus moved to the U.S. with a Jehovah's Witness couple to escape it. Although I didn't experience sexual abuse as she did, abuse is abuse nonetheless so we had alot in common. For circumstances that I will describe later, she moved out from her "adopted parent's" home and found an apartment for rent. She needed a second signer so when she asked me for help I said, "Sure!" This was all new to me. I was a sheltered bird struggling to make my way out of the nest. But the freedom felt good. I spent alot of time at the apartment for peace of mind, even having sleepovers now and again. Of course my grandmother was livid. She already stamped me as "moved out" although all of my things were still there. So not too long after that, one of my aunts, Aunt Eileen, who, the night my mom died said to me, “I’m going to make you guys rich”, decided to move back into my grandmother’s house to “help her”. Now that I am older and able to see these times in hindsight, I realize that my aunt didn’t come to the house to be Sally Peacemaker. She came to do quite the opposite.
Eileen is my mother’s youngest sister. At this time she was thirty some-odd years old and she was a literal rolling stone. Every time she moved out and tried to make it on her own, she would find her way back to mommy’s house. At least she always had a cushion to fall on. Her downfall is that she is a “Keeper Upper of the Jones’”. She always lives beyond her means, buying the most expensive clothes, taking the most expensive trips just so she could fit in with the upper crustaceans. She always has to live rich and even if she didn’t have a dime, she would still pretend to be rich. Back then I didn’t know that she, as well as other family members, only saw my siblings and I as cash cows. So, enter the Dragon...Lady.
My grandmother continued my mother’s over-protective spirit so I was hardly outside of the house. I was seventeen living in New York City and I hadn’t even ridden the train by myself. I made up my mind to get on the train for the first time alone. My destination? Newark, N.J. where a Jehovah’s Witness family that I knew lived. When I told my grandmother, she had a conniption. She stood by the kitchen door that led to the backyard and started yelling at me, asking me if I was crazy. I told her that I’m going to see my friends regardless if she likes it or not. My step-grandfather, as he sat in his sad memory foam, egged her on. Then, as I can remember crystal clear as day, my grandmother screamed, “Then I hope a train runs over you!” I can’t say that I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing. The words just made no sense but they cut me but not deep enough to stop me from venturing beyond the house. I wanted to travel to Newark even more so. I told her that was a very horrible thing to say, then I left.
Reading subway maps and signs, I learned, is not difficult. On the train ride I thought about my grandmother's remark, "I hope a train runs over you", and I walowed in the pain that I felt. Losing my parents and being criticized and called names by the people who were supposed to love me, hurt me so much. the emotional pain became physical pain. This is how you know you are being subjected to too much. When the emotional pain passes that thresh hold and grips your bones and joints and affects your breathing. Stress is a hell of a thing.
I wallowed so much in my own pain as an adolescent that I forgot the pain that my grandmother must have been going through to. Her doctor prescribed her sleeping pills because she couldn't sleep at night on her own since her first daughter was killed. As I look back, I realize that she blamed me for her daughter's death because my father wasn't there to vent out her anger to. She picked at me and criticized me alot because she was in pain and needed someone to transfer that pain to. I don't think my grandmother meant any harm. She was just caught up in the un-naturalness of it all. She was also from the old school which was a bit rougher, so even before my mom died, when she would babysit me as a young child, I could feel the love from her beyond the abrasiveness. I think she couldn't believe that she allowed, "I hope a train runs over you", to slip out of her mouth so she had to lie to herself so she could believe she never said it. When she told me that I was the reason my mom died, she had tears in her eyes. It was the pain talking. And pain, anger, grief and hurt is not articulate.
Anyway, I found my way to my friend’s house, stayed a couple of hours and made my way back home. When I returned late that evening, I got a call from one of the Borg. “Why did you go to New Jersey without permission and why did you come back so late?” I explained that I was seventeen and I didn’t see anything wrong with taking the train to visit friends. Then I told my aunt, in front of my grandmother and step-grandfather, “Do you know that she told me that she wishes a train ran over me?” At that my grandmother was up in arms. “Nooooo! I never said that! She’s a liar!” My aunt on the line then asked me why I was lying on my grandmother. I kept on insisting I wasn’t lying. I even asked the step-grandfather, “You were right here. Didn’t you hear her say that a train should run over me?” He coyly turned his head away from me. If ever I didn’t think I was alone in this world, this was the moment that I did.
After that, I spent alot of time away from the stresses of the house. I got closer to the Jehovah's Witness woman who was assigned to study the Bible with me. She came from an abusive home in the West Indies and thus moved to the U.S. with a Jehovah's Witness couple to escape it. Although I didn't experience sexual abuse as she did, abuse is abuse nonetheless so we had alot in common. For circumstances that I will describe later, she moved out from her "adopted parent's" home and found an apartment for rent. She needed a second signer so when she asked me for help I said, "Sure!" This was all new to me. I was a sheltered bird struggling to make my way out of the nest. But the freedom felt good. I spent alot of time at the apartment for peace of mind, even having sleepovers now and again. Of course my grandmother was livid. She already stamped me as "moved out" although all of my things were still there. So not too long after that, one of my aunts, Aunt Eileen, who, the night my mom died said to me, “I’m going to make you guys rich”, decided to move back into my grandmother’s house to “help her”. Now that I am older and able to see these times in hindsight, I realize that my aunt didn’t come to the house to be Sally Peacemaker. She came to do quite the opposite.
Eileen is my mother’s youngest sister. At this time she was thirty some-odd years old and she was a literal rolling stone. Every time she moved out and tried to make it on her own, she would find her way back to mommy’s house. At least she always had a cushion to fall on. Her downfall is that she is a “Keeper Upper of the Jones’”. She always lives beyond her means, buying the most expensive clothes, taking the most expensive trips just so she could fit in with the upper crustaceans. She always has to live rich and even if she didn’t have a dime, she would still pretend to be rich. Back then I didn’t know that she, as well as other family members, only saw my siblings and I as cash cows. So, enter the Dragon...Lady.
The Age of Sagittarius
I was always a shy girl growing up. I had a lot to say but I never found my voice beyond paper. I was always afraid to speak up and speak out. I kept quiet when my father would beat my mother and this quiet demeanor transcended throughout every facet of my life.
My mother was not deep into astrology by any means but she entertained herself with it now and again. She had a little wooden plaque that was an Ode to Sagittarius hung in a corner of our basement. She and I shared this unique sign. The plaque listed the attributes of the Sagittarian but there was one word that I wasn’t familiar with – candid. I quickly grabbed my children’s dictionary and looked it up as I always would when I came across a word I didn’t know. When I read the meaning: frank, blunt, outspoken, I said to myself, ‘This is not me.’ So like any inquisitive 10 year old child, I asked my mother, “How come the plaque says Sagittarians are supposed to be candid and I’m not?” My mother smiled at me and said, as you get older, you will grow into your Sagittarian self. So from that moment I looked forward to being more outstpoken, blunt, frank, candid. It would take a few years after my mom died before I found a voice and started to ‘grow into my Sagittarian self’. This transition came about as a result of being pushed to the limit though.
Living with my grandmother was a blessing and disaster. I was so very grateful that my siblings and I were not put in foster care and we were able to stay together as a family. But on the other side, my grandmother’s house was where my siblings and I learned what full on adversity felt like. My grandmother was 64 years old and living in her four bedroom home with her husband and relatives who were tenants in the basement. I guess all the space prompted the Child Welfare Services to back off and the State of New York to award my grandmother as our legal guardian. Like I said, I was very grateful for my grandmother, after all, she took us in even when my father’s family, with the exception of one, wanted nothing to do with us. I was very grateful, so much so, I stomached a lot of the ill treatment.
My sister, brother and I were like pets left in a will by a deceased owner to people who were allergic to us. I say people because my mother’s two sisters and five brothers were in our lives just as much as our grandmother was. We really tried to be as quiet and helpful and out of sight as children who have just lost their mother to the hands of their father could be, but that was not good enough. Our grandmother always found something about us to complain about. When she would complain, it would revolve around my sister and I not helping her out with house work. When we would try to pick up a broom or a mop, we would get the same comments; “Put that down. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Or “I just cleaned that, what are you doing?” I think my grandmother just needed something to complain about. We were like her sounding board and why not, her child, her first daughter was murdered by our father and we were a constant reminder of that. Worst yet, my little sister resembled my father and she would always be reminded of how much she looked like him and acted like him. I was very close to my father growing up so my grandmother would always tell me how I loved my father more than I loved my mother. She even told me that I’m the reason why my mother died because instead of calling the police that night, I called her. I blamed myself for my mom’s death for years to come because of my grandmother’s statements.
My grandmother’s husband or step-grandfather, when he wasn’t taking his daily walk to the local OTB, he spent most of his time sitting in front of a tiny black and white television in one corner of the kitchen, watching us and sucking his teeth at us every time we passed by. He would throw his little discouraging comments at us now and then. Once I tried my inexperienced hand at cooking and my step-grandfather got up from his chair that imprinted his gluteus maximus and slid his slippered feet towards me as if to throw something in the garbage just so he could see what I was doing. He looked into my boiling pot, looked at me and laughed this condescending laugh. I asked him what was wrong. He told me smiling, “You don’t know what you’re doing. Why don’t you get out of the kitchen.”
This is how it was on a regular basis but everyday was worst than the one before. I used to privately call my grandmother the first World-wide web or the prototype to the World-wide web because no one could contact as many people in so short a time as my grandmother’s speedy fingers would as she dialed numbers when she had a piece of juicy gossip. Her complaints reached the far ends of the earth. Then my sister and I, being the eldest, would hear about it from our aunts and uncles and elders in the congregation of Jehovah’s Witnesses that we attended. The aunts and uncles would come on the phone without question, yelling at me. They seemed to be the Borg from Star Trek as they all had the same things to say in order -“Why are you treating my mother like this?! You guys are so ungrateful! You could be living on the streets if it wasn’t for my mother…!” I would stay quiet as they spewed their spiel. My sister on the other hand was always outspoken. From the beginning when we would be attacked, she would be ready for war, equaling and surpassing their boisterousness with her loud voice. She seemed to have no fear and she was my sibling by 8 years. I always admired this fearlessness about her.
The calls would usually come back to back and I would usually sit there quietly listening, guilty for just existing. Then one day at the age of 17 I couldn’t take it anymore. My grandmother called me to the phone in the kitchen where she and her husband sat at either end of the table to speak to one of my uncles. She had this accomplished smile on her face as usual and my step-grandfather was one second away from pulling out virtual popcorn for the show. Of course I knew what kind of call this was. I took the rotary phone receiver from her and before I could say ‘hello’ properly, the yelling and the accusations started flying towards me. I surprised myself when I raised my voice slightly and authoritatively and said, “I’m seventeen years old. I’m not a child anymore. When you can learn to respect me and lower your voice when speaking to me, then we can talk. Other than that, this conversation is over.” Then I hung up the rotary phone and walked away. My audience was dumbfounded. They were fortunate enough to witness the moment I grew into my Sagittarian self.
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