Why Not?
When I was six years old, my parents began locking me in the cupboard below the sink. It was not punishment for anything I had done. There was no behavior that needed correcting. They just one day decided to see what would happen if you locked a young boy in a small space.
I pounded my tiny fists against the doors. I cried, I peed. I put my eye against the keyhole and watched as they went about their business, sans me. Finally, I started to scream. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
My mother slowly walked toward the cupboard, knelt down so her eye was at the keyhole, and said simply, “Why not?”
They did this for many years. There was never any warning. I would be eating breakfast, anticipating the walk to school, when suddenly one of them would grab me by the arm and haul me into the cupboard. I fought at first, but it was pointless. They were bigger than me. My resistance did nothing.
Sometimes it was thirty minutes. Other times, I could be inside for half a day. I don’t know if they forgot about me or had some sick pleasure in making me wait. The longest I was ever inside was an entire weekend. They went out of town. When they came back I was nearly dead. It didn’t seem to bother them at all.
