yona Dixon Behind Closed Doors: My Life From the outside looking in, everything seemed perfectly normal. The truth was, it wasn't. I remember when I was just a little girl witnessing my father abuse my mother. I could hear my mother's cries for help and him yelling at her. I didn't know what was happening or what to do, but I knew it wasn't right. My younger brother, sister, and I went into the kitchen to see what was going on. I must have been about 7 years old. I remember my father's hands around my mother's neck as I stood there like a darling in the headlights with my younger siblings behind me. We were so young and naive to the situation. My mother seemed so helpless as my father invited us to go out and play, so we did. I could never get that image out of my head. My mother on the floor, my father on top choking her and that look in her eyes. That was the first time I can remember seeing my father lay hands on my mother, but it definitely wasn't the last. He had his days where he was normal. He would stay in his room with the door closed as if no one else existed. I didn't have a close relationship with my father. Not even my brothers. To date, we still don't do it. On the other hand, the relationship with my mother was strong. She was the one who helped us get ready for school, took us to doctor's appointments, cooked our meals, attended parent conferences, and more. I don't remember my father doing any of these things. When I was in high school, before I bought the car, there were days when I would need a ride to school. My mother worked in the morning and my father usually slept in his room. Therefore I would ask him for a ride to school. He would always have some lame excuse as to why he was... middle of paper... dead. These words hurt my mother. I could tell she didn't like that we felt this way, but we did and I think we had reason to. I always wondered how and why my father was so cruel to us, his family. Why he treated my mother so coldly and why he stayed. The only conclusion I was able to come to was that although he had his violent moments and was emotionally absent from his children's lives, he still helped with bills and provided money when needed. It would have been difficult for my mother to provide financially for three children. Even though we had a place to live, clothes on our backs and food on the table, the memories still haunt me. But growing up in this environment made me the woman I am today. My mother always told me to never rely on a man or anyone else for that matter. This made me the determined and independent woman I am today.