The Night I Slept in the Church

My little family...Dad, Mom, my older sister and I, all lived in a large 2-story colonial house as I was growing up. It was a grand old house, with a huge fenced-in yard and an attic filled with boxes of "this and that" where I loved to go "exploring".

On good days, life in my family was almost idyllic but on bad days, which far outnumbered the good ones, my family was a perfect recipe for creating an emotionally disturbed child.

If Mom would have been told she could have only one thing in life...aside from money (which I think had a lot to do with her marrying my dad who owned his own successful clothing store)...it would be BEER! Back in those days beer came only in brown bottles...cans did not exist back in the 50's. Mom always bought it by the case which made sense, because once she opened one bottle, another would follow, by another and another.

While it always bothered me to hear the arguments that ensued after she began verbally and physically fighting with my dad, I was usually in bed by then and would just hold a pillow tightly over my ears so I couldn't hear any of it.

One night when I was twelve, the fight never ended downstairs and continued in their bedroom, a mere six feet from my room. It was 2 a.m. and emotionally I just could not handle their fighting right in the next room. Scared, shaking and distraught, I quickly threw on some clothes, ran down the stairs, and quietly went out the front door...leaving it slightly ajar so I could eventually get back in.

Back in the late 50's, churches did not lock their doors so I headed to the nearest one I knew, four blocks away. Entering the front door, I went up the steps and could see a room in the back of the sanctuary which was for mothers with crying infants.

I quickly made my way to that room where several chairs and a couch were available. There were no blankets so I just curled up in a little ball on the couch and eventually fell into a light, troubled sleep. I woke up a number of times but around 5 a.m., I became fully awake when I heard a door shut and realized I was no longer alone in the church. The janitor had arrived and was busying himself up by the altar.

Not wanting him to know I was there, I quickly retreated to the front door of the church and ran back home. Entering the house, I was relieved it was quiet so I bounded up the stairs and for the first time that night, fell fast asleep.

Morning soon came and Mom and Dad were up as if nothing had happened. When I was called to wake up for school, I told them I had been up most of the night with stomach pains so they said no more and let me stay home from school that day.

They fought so often I think they gave no thought to the effect it had on me. What was "history" to them the next morning, however, became permanently etched in both my heart and mind and served to create the emotional mess I was throughout my childhood.