During one unforgettable summer, I found myself nestled in the lap of a man I now realize was a monster. Each evening, I would sip from his glass, which was filled with the most delightful vanilla milkshake I had ever tasted. His smile was warm, and I can still picture his large, calloused hands. The gray in his mustache and the smell of dirt and gasoline lingered in the air—a scent of hard work and the outdoors.
I felt perfectly at ease, unaware of the darkness behind his gentle demeanor. Surrounded by laughter and delicious meals, I was affectionately dubbed “squaddly chicken,” a nickname that made me feel cherished.
When a spider frightened me from my own bed, I sought refuge in his room, where a small cot awaited me at the foot of his bed. His wife, whom I thought of as a monster too but in a different way, slept beside him. I feared the spider but felt utterly secure beside him.
This man never roared, never bared his teeth, and never raised a hand against me. Instead, he took me on horseback rides and allowed me to keep a tiny orange tabby kitten I discovered in his friend’s barn—pretending not to notice its presence tucked under my shirt. He taught me how to ride an ATV and introduced me to the joys of feeding cows. Meanwhile, his wife played Scrabble and gin rummy with me and baked delicious cookies.
What I didn’t realize while enjoying those milkshakes was the history that lingered in his hands—hands that had committed unspeakable acts against another little girl. I later learned that his wife had witnessed his monstrous side but chose silence. The very house that offered me comfort was once a site of torment, a prison of fear for someone else.
It’s challenging to reconcile the monster with the man who provided me joy and safety. I often wish they had remained in their monstrous forms, making it simpler to understand the duality of their nature. I remember the warmth of those laps, the sweetness of vanilla, and the smiles. What transformed them into seemingly kind grandparents who shared milkshakes and allowed me to keep a kitten? Was it age that softened their wickedness? Did remorse for their past haunt them?
After that summer, I never saw them again. I never witnessed their monstrous side, but I heard the stories and created unsettling movies in my mind that I prefer not to rewatch. The monsters have passed, and the cycle of pain has been broken.
I sat in a monster’s lap and learned that even the kindest faces can wear disguises, including those of beloved grandparents who share milkshakes. If you want to explore more about family and parenting struggles, check out this insightful post or visit Modern Family Blog for more articles on similar experiences. For an excellent resource on artificial insemination, consider this Wikipedia entry.
Summary:
This reflective piece recounts a childhood summer spent with a man who, despite appearing loving and protective, was a monster in disguise. The author explores the complex emotions surrounding this duality, the innocence of childhood, and the hidden truths that can lurk beneath seemingly benign surfaces.