August 9, 1984: “I hit her.”

 

August 9, 1984: “I hit her.”

I hit my daughter.
A poke? A slap?
I can’t imagine using a fist
but then I can’t imagine slapping either.
A scene deleted from my memory
but discovered in my daily journal
where I summarize and confess each day.

At age almost-6 she was screaming
because her brother got to go with Mom to buy pants
while she my daughter had to go home
in the front seat of my smelly truck
so in frustration after a horrendous work day
including a dropped brick on my toe
which is not an excuse but
I hit her.
She carried on screaming
so I drowned her out with the radio.

A mile later, she quit.
By the time we got home she was singing along
with the Beatles. And me.
So says the journal.

She’s 43 now.
She might remember.
I’m afraid to ask.
She still likes the Beatles.

……

First published in Rat’s Ass Review
photo by Ogutier