This post was made by Lance Marcom over at texantales.com. He also shared with me how hard it would be for him to write this post as it is a skeleton of sorts in the family closet. I am proud to reblog this story because he bravely decided to break the silence. Thank you Lance.
This post is for Teela
My grandfather beat his wife. He was a jealous man. He was a boxer in his youth, and his beatings were top-notch.
He could beat:
This man. That man. Any man. (He could beat women too)
And he did; he beat my grandmother.
For fifty years.
He was a jealous man.
He hated me, but more important, he hated the spring I had sprung from.
He hated those “Marcoms.”
“Who the hell do they think they are, Boy? Doctors, lawyers? Scum! That’s what they are!”
“Yes, gran-dad, they are scum.”
“That old Doc Marcom… he is communisss.”
“Yes, Grand-dad, surely”
“If’n you sass me Boy, I gonna send you there to live among ‘em.”
“Go on in there and do yer homework.”
That conversation happened…
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