UNAPOLOGETIC

by Barbara Champagne

Unapologetic is a brief summary of my book that I will be launching shortly, thanks for your support; I hope you’ll enjoy.

I come from a family where you never share family secrets, and where things must appear perfect all the time. As a child, my mom worked on Sundays. We attended church every Christmas, New Years, for mid-night service, and Easter; we lived in R.I. from the ages of six-ten. My father was an engineer. He bragged about being a good provider and the lifestyle that we lived. We lived in Mt. Pleasant at the time. It was a, pre-dominantly Caucasian, Italian, nice middle-class neighborhood. We had a nice house, A large yard with all kinds of flowers, and trees. We had very green grass; My mom drove fancy cars; My parents spent a lot of money on our clothes. I remember our dresses costing four-hundred dollars. We didn’t shop at the malls, unless it was Cache or Wilsons Leather. We mostly shopped in boutiques.

At the age of six, I remember playing in the yard, and my father calling me over. He said: "I feel like beating you up, for making me work so hard.” My earliest memories are of my dad whipping my mother, and I with a belt. In preschool, he was teaching me how to count with a belt in one hand, and he quickly counted to five, when I left some numbers out, he whipped me. The next day when I arrived at school, the scabs on my skin were peeling, and bleeding. I couldn’t function the next day. When the teacher asked who was responsible, I told her my father. My mother said that he talked his way out of it with the school.

By the time I was ten, I was sick and tired of the abuse. From the time I could remember we were walking on eggshells. He was always like a volcano about to erupt. He controlled our lives in every way. My mother couldn’t go into a store, and make a choice of clothes or shoes. He had to pick out all of my clothes too. From the age of ten on, I rebelled. I went from quiet, scared, and shy to talking back, and voicing my opinions. The funny thing is that we fought constantly, but he hit me less.

I was the tall, skinny one in the family. I started puberty earlier than other girls my age. He would buy me short, tight clothing that wasn’t appropriate for my age, starting at the age of eleven. In those clothes, I didn’t look my age. He expected me to look like a super-model at all times. I hated the control, but at first, I loved the clothes. None of the other girls my age were wearing mini leather skirts. Men loved my look. My parents started taking me to parties at that age. I couldn’t always tell the difference between positive, and negative attention.

When I arrived at parties, I was always in nice clothes, looked older, wearing makeup, and men always asked me to dance. By age twelve, I loved to party. I couldn’t wait to grow up so that I could start going to balle (A cross between a concert, and a club). I thought that I wanted to be a party animal. My dad couldn’t wait for me to grow up so that he could take me to balle. I loved kompas, I loved getting dressed up, and loved to dance.

That was the lifestyle that my dad encouraged. He was proud of the fact that I loved to dance. One day he surprised my mom with a nice, expensive new car. She was so happy until about a week later, one of his mistresses crashed it. Other husbands with mistresses knew to keep their family, and their mistresses separate. My sister, and I were going over their house, they would do our hair, and again my mother couldn’t say no. My father’s sisters all gossiped about my... Read More