A reflection on domestic violence

It's "Domestic Violence Month." Of course, for the unfortunates in that situation, every month is domestic violence month. And it's a sad world we live in when some locales denote the month by decriminalizing wife beating (and shame on the city government of Topeka - what douche bags).

My daughter Meghann wrote a piece about domestic violence and how it has affected her and her husband through some neighbors they had in Texas. I recommend reading it. I am proud of her for writing it. I am proud of both of them for trying to help. I am sitting here after reading it with tears in my eyes - proud.

I was in the midst of commenting on her post when I just kept writing and writing, until I finally realized, "Instead of spamming her post with this, I had better spam my blog viewers with it, instead." So, here:


When I was 29 or 30, I volunteered for a mental health hotline in Kansas City. As someone who had wrestled with suicidal thoughts and made multiple attempts up until one that proved to me that I didn't really want to go that route, I felt it was a karmic thing - something to pay back. I was glad to do it.

On the hot line, we had lots of training - both up front before we were allowed on the phones and ongoing. How to talk to someone who's suicidal. How to talk to someone who's mentally ill. What resources are available. What resources are available at 12:30am on a Sunday morning. We had a whole day of training just on domestic violence - what you can and can't say, including things not to say because it will make it worse by making her stay with the jerk. It was eye-opening. Basically, my side of the script was:


"Here's the number. Call the shelter. They will help you."

That's really all you could say. If you came down too hard on the guy, you might cause her to actually defend him. If you tried to tell her what to do, she could reject that as too scary. All you could do was calmly give her the info and encourage her to use it.

"Here's the number. Call the shelter. They will help you."

What finally made me leave that volunteer gig weren't the calls from the depressed, the suicides, the random crazies - like the guy who liked to repeatedly call and ask the volunteers what kind of shoes they were wearing...really. That became part of the shift turnover report: "Oh, and the 'shoe guy' is calling again." It was funny. And I was actually pretty darned good with the suicidal calls, having been there myself.

No, what made me quit were the domestic violence calls. Because they were always the same. Always.

Always.

They were right out of the training scripts, actually. And in every case, she would be on the phone (it was always a she - I know there are men who get abused, but the numbers are just much, much lower) and in between describing her fear, telling whatever horrific thing had just happened to finally trigger her to call for help, me trying to give her options and numbers to call, etc., she would be DEFENDING him. "I know he's a good guy on the inside, he just has trouble controlling his temper." "I know I give him reasons to be mad at me." "I know he really loves me deep down." Sickening.

There was one call I'll never forget. She was calling from a phone booth in the middle of the night (my shift was usually 10:00 to 1:00 or 2:00, something like that), her little children huddled around her legs, telling me of her fear because the beating had been bad, and she knew he was out driving around, looking for her, and it would be bad again when he found her.

"Here's the number. Call the shelter. They will help you."

"I know he loves me..."

"Here's the number. Call the shelter. They will help you."

"I'm afraid my kids and I won't have a place to live. And sometimes he can be really nice..."

"Here's the number. Call the shelter. They will help you."

"I just don't know what to do..."


"Here's the number. Call the shelter. They will help you."

She ended up hanging up. I still don't know what happened to her and her children. I can only pray she took the numbers and called one of them. Please. God, please. Please.

It was shortly after that call that I stopped volunteering on the hot line. Because I knew I couldn't keep doing it and stay "on script." Sooner or later, I was going to say, "Tell me where you're at, I'll come get you." Then I was going to continue, "And then we'll go get a gun and hunt the SOB down and take care of the problem once and for all."

That wouldn't have been helpful.

So there are other brave souls out there manning those phones instead. I think they are heroes, because they are doing something I can't do.

I have been lucky - I grew up in a loving household without abuse, try to provide the same to my wife and kids, and honestly don't know of anyone who is in that situation. I know it is a "hidden crime," and more common than most of us think, but I honestly don't think any of my close family or friends are in that type of relationship. If they are, I hope they reach out to Les and me. And I hope we're as brave as my daughter and her husband in trying to help them.

And I hope you are, too.

Or, if you are in that situation...

Here's the number. Call the shelter. They will help you.

1-800-799-SAFE or visit www.TheHotline.org