Sabrina Gellink

An International Student from Germany

English 101 for International Students (S 2001)

Tears ran down my cheeks. Anger was not far away. I was just ten years old, but I destroyed the pictures of my mom, my dad and me. The pictures were taken when I was seven years old. My mom was holding my hand. I even had a smile on my face. Both of us knelt down at the Christmas tree. My dad, who was chubby and blond, would not hurt a fly. I was sitting on his lap. The pictures made us look like a happy family. But the scenes in the pictures were fake, just a lie, a damn old lie. In my family, happiness never existed.

One winter day was so remarkable that I still recall it even though I wish not to. Still wondering what had happened, all of a sudden I found myself in the cold and creepy basement, and my mom turned off the light. I screamed and cried loudly and was scared to death. My mom often locked me in my bedroom, but this was the first time she locked me in the basement. My dad was silent because he was afraid of being thrown into the condemnation, too.

Sometimes, my mom was light-hearted and pleased and enjoyed playing in the sandbox, creating beautiful castles. She loved the colorful puzzles and she had a wonderful time putting them together with our neighbor’s children. She spent time with them and made them laugh, but I had to go to the playground alone. I still saw a smile on my mom’s face often, but then she would immediately pull my ear very hard. It was not the ear that she had hurt. She called me nuts, stupid and heartless. This hurt me emotionally. I often saw her sitting on the kitchen chair and staring at the window or crying; sometimes she cried hard.

Even today I try to speculate why my mom did all that to me. All this started to occur even before the fake pictures were taken, and it continued for many years. I have been wondering what had happened in her life that made her behaviors irrational. She locked me in the basement only one day during that winter, but she treated me with no respect many, many times during my life. She frightened me with her unpredictable and harshly behaviors. I was just an innocent child, who maybe spilled a glass of milk or made a mistake in her homework. Sometimes it seemed that my mom hated me. Today, I know that she also must have loved me. I am sure on those days when she cried, she hated herself the most.

My dad was so proud of me. His heart was full of joy when I learned to ride a bike and when I obtained my first certificate for swimming lessons. He was pleased when I received good graded in school. My dad always gave me a friendly smile. But when my mom acted insane and I cried from fear, my dad kept smiling, and I hated his big damn old smile. My dad loved me and it must have broken his heart when he saw me crying from fear. I knew he was sad that the pictures were fake, but he was too weak to fight against my mom. He was scared of her. At first, I had positive feelings for my dad, but over time I lost any interests in him and just was annoyed by him and his presence. Often I yelled at my dad, because I wanted him to save me, but he just gave me one of those big damn old smiles. My dad might have saved himself, but he lost me.

Toward the end of tenth grade, I was exhausted, desperate and very sad. I was so lost in this world. One Friday morning in May 1996, I woke up with tears in my eyes. I was confused about my own emotions. I was determined when I said to my mom: "I won’t go to school today." I did not want to go to school because I was physically and emotionally exhausted from the abuse. First, my mom yelled at me, of course, and then she cried. Still, I repeated over and over again: "I won’t go to school today. I won’t go to school." I was so strong in my decision, for the first time not even my mom could stop me. I believe she thought it would do to just leave me alone.

The same morning, I confided in my teacher. She was middle aged, red haired and in her presence I was never scared. I called her at school and I whispered in tears: "I am miserable. Please come here now." Right in the first second she sounded astonished but understood how upset I was. "It won’t be long, and I’ll be at your house," she said before we hung up. Ten minutes later, she pulled her car in the driveway. My mom and dad seemed to have disappeared. My teacher and I sat on the sofa, and she embraced me. We did not talk much, but I felt understood and saved.

After that day, my mom still hurt me many, many times, but I tried hard to ignore her. Sometimes I stopped talking to her for weeks or even months knowing that that hurt her the most. I tried not to have my mom’s negative interference in my life anymore. From that day in May 1996, I owned the key to my bedroom and always had the door locked from the inside. Within a few weeks, I confided more and more in my teacher. She believed in me and my words, respected and supported me. "Sabrina, you are not a bad child," she said when I was desperate and sad. "Sabrina, you are not a bad child. Your mom and dad are just making you believe that you are one." I was so grateful to hear her saying those words.

My teacher was the first person in my life I was ever close to. By finding a friend in her, I experienced what it was like to live with encouragement, security, approval, acceptance and friendship. Over time, I was able to make friends. Often they saw me sad. Sometimes they could make me smile and make me forget about the basement I still was locked in. A locked basement was just not enough room for me to grow. Living with my mom and dad never allowed me to really enjoy life.

Then, in the summer 1999, out of one of those spontaneous, not reasoned decisions, I found myself on a plane to the U.S. I had applied to become an Au Pair and was accepted. Deep in my heart I knew that I would fight hard not to have to return to the locked basement again. My mom had a stony expression. She seemed to be desperate and lost. I am certain the night I left she stared at the window and cried. She knew that she lost me forever. My dad smiled. My mom and dad let me go and were silent. My mom and dad did not know what to say. I did not know what to say, either. My goal was to live a new life.

I was an Au pair for a year and lived with an American family in the Baltimore area. I watched a first grader, Jimmy, a precious toddler girl, Gabrielle, and the cutest baby boy, Chandler. Jimmy made friends, Gabrielle sang at the top of her lungs and Chandler learned to crawl. To spend time with these children and see them grow up and develop was my greatest pleasure. I loved them so much that I did not want anything bad to happen to them and tried hard to have them experience what it was like to live with tolerance, praise and fairness. To be with these children made me wonder even more why my mom was not able to enjoy her own child and why my dad did not save his only child. I was glad to realize, though, that I do not take after my mom and dad. I am a kind, responsible and sensitive young adult. I was good for these children. Today I understand my teacher was right when she said: "Sabrina, you are not a bad child."

My mom and dad did not unlock the basement door, but I blew it up and now I can grow. My friends, whom I met during my stay in the U.S., helped me to manage to stay in this country and be a full time student. Many years ago, I never thought that my life would change so tremendously.

In the U.S., I am learning to be confident, to have faith, to like myself and to find love in the world. But there are still days when tears run down my cheeks and anger is not far away. I never can forget the cold and creepy basement. Often, I wish the pictures had not been fake.