A Child Called “It”
By David Pelzer
Don’t even bother reading this review. Just get the book and sit down with it.
It is absolutely captivating. Everyone should read this.
So, if you read my last blog… I touched on the idea of words.
This book made me realize just how little words can truly express meaning if you’ve never experienced them in such context.
As I write this, my mind cannot grasp the best way to expound the magnitude of this story.
The book portrays the true story of David Pelzer’s life from the delicate ages of 4-12.
A drunk, enraged, pathetic, psychopathic mother who abuses him.
Abuse: the physical, psychological, or sexual maltreatment of a person or animal.
Not the right word.
Not even close.
The “games” (as David refers to them in the book) that his mother plays, extend far beyond abuse. In the beginning, he feels his father may offer some hope and help. Quickly, David realizes he is alone in the helpless battle as his father, his hero, looks on and does nothing.
David uses words like: FEAR, Pain, Hunger, Cold, Food, Sleep, Exhausted, Weak, Alone.
No words will be able to express the real feelings he suffered. His feelings. What it really feels like to be so hungry, that as you take the garbage out at night you’re willing wipe cigarette ashes off the few salvageable bites of food you can find and scarf them down, … only to get caught and be “punished”. Or to eat out of the dog’s dish, after they get their fill. To not be allowed to sit or sleep, but merely allowed only to stand, alone in the basement – while the rest of your “family” eats dinner together upstairs at the table. To be so scared,… that you actually do stand. Even if it means you go to the bathroom as you hold your position.
Words can’t justify stories like this.
I can’t tell you about the "games", you know I will leave that for you to read. But I can tell you that my heart aches for children around the world living a similar story RIGHT NOW, as we go on about our daily lives, fat and happy.
Weakly put, it’s not fair. I will never, ever, be able to understand how someone could do that to their child. Your baby. To treat him as a slave. To not allow him clothes, or force him to wear the same tattered, dirty outfit every day to school. To not feed your child when he is hungry, or not offer him your embrace when he is sad, hurt, frightened, or lonely. It is a concept that erupts the purest form of rage within the bottom of my very being.
The things I take away from this book are Hope…and the strength of our minds. How far Hope and Faith can carry us. The notion that, however obvious or obscure: God will always prevail.
I say a special prayer for those who work diligently to fight for these children and save the lives of those tragically born into such a cruel life that no one deserves. For the victims who rise, and continue holding on to that shred of light, even when it seems so far out of reach. For the bodies that take a stand when they see something that isn’t right. For those who stood up for David, and saved his life.
“That day I vowed to myself that I would never, ever again give that bitch the satisfaction of hearing me beg her to stop beating me.”
“Layers of flesh were scraped away, while remaining parts were red and raw. I stood, staring into the sink, feeling how lucky I was to be alive.”
“With no dreams, I found words like hope and faith were only letters, randomly put together into something meaningless – words only for fairytales.”
“Inside, my soul became so cold I hated everything. I even despised the sun, for I knew I would never be able to play in its warm presence.”
“Mother’s words were no longer coming from the booze; they were coming from her heart.”
“… I bowed my head and with peace in my heart, I whispered, “… and deliver me from evil.” “Amen.””