Lisa Mayoh: I stopped a dad punching his son before he ran to his car and drove away

The boy could not have been more than eight or nine was on the ground desperately trying to avoid the punches and I just knew I had to do something, writes Lisa Mayoh.

I thought the man had run over to hug his son at first.

But after a few seconds, it was clear what was happening. The tall, well-dressed man — wearing a suit and tie, even a scarf draped around his shoulders — was punching a small and very scared brown-haired boy.

The child, who looked like he was the man’s son, couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.

He was on the ground, curled up in a tight little ball, his hands covering his head, trying desperately to avoid the punches.

The man was three times his size, his full weight on him with each hit. At one point it looked like he was airborne, jumping down with as much force as he could on the screaming boy, hitting him over and over again. It was terrifying.

I can remember it so clearly because I was with my own three young children. It was school holidays and raining again, so I’d taken them up to Timezone at our local shops on Sydney’s north shore for a treat. We were walking to Sushi Train for lunch when I heard the commotion about 30 metres up the busy road.

Seconds before, a big shiny European 4WD had pulled up quickly on the side of the street – it caught my attention because it was driving so recklessly. You could tell something was wrong. The boy had been in the back seat and slammed the door as he ran out of the car, when his father got out and chased him down. An older sibling and a woman, I’m assuming the boy’s mother, got out and followed them, standing by as he unleashed.

I’ll never forget the sound of that boy being hit. I felt each blow.

I didn’t think. I just knew I had to do something – I couldn’t let it happen for one more second. I told my kids to stay and I ran to where they wrestled and yelled at the top of my lungs for the man to STOP.

After telling him to stop over and over, he broke from what felt like a frenzied trance. He looked up to see someone stepping in, and he ran.

He got into his car that was still idling and drove off – but not before I jumped in front of him, taking a photo of his number plate – and trying not to show how scared I was, told him I would be calling the police.

And just like that, he was gone – leaving his family on the street he’d just fled.

I am shaking just thinking about it, to be honest. Seeing a young boy being punched over and over by a grown man in broad daylight is an image you don’t soon forget.

The other thing forever burnt into my memory was the overwhelming silence from everyone watching. And there were people everywhere. It was lunchtime in a busy shopping precinct in the height of school holidays. Mums and kids darting in and out of shops, colleagues grabbing a bite between calls, delivery trucks dropping off crates of god knows what.

Why didn’t anyone help? Why didn’t anyone yell or scream or get him to stop?

The young victim was still on his knees, sobbing like the little boy he so clearly was.

I asked if they were all okay – the boy shook his head, unable to speak. He wasn’t bleeding, but being set on in such a furious and violent way isn’t something that wouldn’t leave a scar.

“I’m shocked,” the woman said slowly, looking at me vacantly. Her long hair hung over her eyes. In retrospect, I wonder if she was hiding her own scars.

My mind raced. How could she be shocked? If that man was so brazen as to do that on a busy street in the middle of packed shopsi n the middle of the day – what on earth did he do at home, behind closed doors? I told her that what just happened was not okay. She had to seek help, protect her children and protect herself.

I told her I would be calling the police and I did. I gave them all the information, passed on his number plate and where CCTV may be, and begged them to do something to help that child.

And I prayed the woman and her children wouldn’t pay the price for what I had just done. Because even though my part in that child’s nightmare was hopefully an important one – there are so many doubts in my mind about whether I did the right thing.

For starters, my own kids saw the whole thing. They still talk about it, wide-eyed and worried about the little boy who was the same age as them and obviously living such a different life to theirs.

The man could have hurt me.

Would it be worse for those kids when the Police come calling?

Are you meant to step in to such a violent situation? Should I have taken that family to the police station myself? Should I have offered to drive them somewhere safe?

According to national domestic, family and sexual violence support service 1800RESPECT, you treat domestic violence as you would a first aid situation, and always need to consider your own safety and the safety of others before intervening.

They say the best thing to do if witnessing an incident where someone is in danger is to call 000.

It’s not up to you to argue with the person, push your agenda, or tell them to leave.

I was just so angry. I still am. Angry and sad that things like that happen.

My heart aches for that poor little boy, who I still dream about and hope is okay. My kids say that I am their hero. That I was brave and they are glad I helped. That they would have helped too, if they were grown ups.

And I’m certainly no hero – I just did what I thought was right at a time when a child needed me.

I don’t know what happened to them after that horrible day, but perhaps the naive mother in me can only hope that the moment being stopped in the street for beating a child was the catalyst that man needed to change.

At the very least, I hope that boy knows that what happened to him was wrong, and that people care about him.

Care enough to step in and make it stop.

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic, family or sexual violence, call 1800RESPECT on 1800 737 732 or visit 1800RESPECT.org.au