Originally published at The Philadelphia Inquirer
My friend recently shared a story with me about growing up in an abusive home. He requested I keep his name and personal details private to protect himself and his mother.
“As I entered the room, the screams had stopped. My mom lay there on the floor. Barely breathing. Barely living. My dad exited the room, got in his truck, and left the house. I called 911. I was 8 years old. My mom was taken to the hospital in an ambulance. My grandmother came to comfort me and my 4-year-old brother. The police found and arrested my dad. He posted bail two days later — about the same time my mom came home from the hospital.”
As soon as his dad arrived home, my friend told me, the beatings started again. And each time he came home, it was worse.This narrative would repeat over and over again in his childhood.
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