Spare the Rod, Spare the Child

[Casey]

They used straps on us. These were of a laminated construction. If you imagine four layers of leather 1/4 inch thick sewn together one atop the other you have a picture of what I am talking about. These were often loaded with a hacksaw blade or coins sewn into them.

Casey

[Amethyst]

Casey, I'm so sorry to hear that you had to go through that.

[Open_Minded]

1. Taken to a private room

2. Told to undress (or undressed if too young)

3. Took a submissive position

4. Hit until submissive/broken cry

5. Redressed and held with love

6. Prayed for forgiveness

 

I remember exactly the same thing from catholic boarding school with the exception of steps 5 and 6. Why all the gibble-gabble bibble-babble? They just started as they meant to go on. Less hypocritical maybe but no less abusive or painful.

 

I spent a year living in a dorm with a sadistic paedophile in charge of it. Interesting times, in the sense of the well-known Chinese curse, that is.

 

Every time I read something like this it just makes me sick. And what amazes me is that survivors haven't sued the offenders the way you see survivors of sexual molestation by priests suing. Have any of you heard of someone suing parents, boarding schools, etc... over this type of thing?

 

 

1. Taken to a private room

2. Told to undress (or undressed if too young)

3. Took a submissive position

4. Hit until submissive/broken cry

5. Redressed and held with love

6. Prayed for forgiveness

 

I remember exactly the same thing from catholic boarding school with the exception of steps 5 and 6. Why all the gibble-gabble bibble-babble? They just started as they meant to go on. Less hypocritical maybe but no less abusive or painful.

 

I spent a year living in a dorm with a sadistic paedophile in charge of it. Interesting times, in the sense of the well-known Chinese curse, that is.

 

Every time I read something like this it just makes me sick. And what amazes me is that survivors haven't sued the offenders the way you see survivors of sexual molestation by priests suing. Have any of you heard of someone suing parents, boarding schools, etc... over this type of thing?

 

 

1. Taken to a private room

2. Told to undress (or undressed if too young)

3. Took a submissive position

4. Hit until submissive/broken cry

5. Redressed and held with love

6. Prayed for forgiveness

 

I remember exactly the same thing from catholic boarding school with the exception of steps 5 and 6. Why all the gibble-gabble bibble-babble? They just started as they meant to go on. Less hypocritical maybe but no less abusive or painful.

 

I spent a year living in a dorm with a sadistic paedophile in charge of it. Interesting times, in the sense of the well-known Chinese curse, that is.

 

Every time I read something like this it just makes me sick. And what amazes me is that survivors haven't sued the offenders the way you see survivors of sexual molestation by priests suing. Have any of you heard of someone suing parents, boarding schools, etc... over this type of thing?

 

 

__________

 

Mods.. this IPB Warning problem seems to have duplicated my response within the same post. Would it be possible for you to clean it up? I don't have the ability to edit it out. Thanks.

[Seabiscuit]

They used straps on us. These were of a laminated construction. If you imagine four layers of leather 1/4 inch thick sewn together one atop the other you have a picture of what I am talking about. These were often loaded with a hacksaw blade or coins sewn into them.

Casey

 

Casey, I'm so sorry. No matter what the rituals were around this type of abuse--it is terrifying and painful. How have you delt with the aftermath of it?

 

They used straps on us. These were of a laminated construction. If you imagine four layers of leather 1/4 inch thick sewn together one atop the other you have a picture of what I am talking about. These were often loaded with a hacksaw blade or coins sewn into them.

Casey

 

Casey, I'm so sorry. No matter what the rituals were around this type of abuse--it is terrifying and painful. How have you delt with the aftermath of it?

[Casey]

They used straps on us. These were of a laminated construction. If you imagine four layers of leather 1/4 inch thick sewn together one atop the other you have a picture of what I am talking about. These were often loaded with a hacksaw blade or coins sewn into them.

Casey

 

My gosh Casey, what has helped you through this if anything? Have you been able to live a somewhat normal adult life? Just want to make sure that you're okay now.

 

First of all, thanks Seabiscuit, Serene Aspiration, and Amethyst. Secondly I apologise in advance if you and other readers find this post rather rambling. I'm sort of putting my thoughts down as I go and some of my thoughts are not pleasant. I am afraid this will turn out like a war story. There's an age old joke about war stories, y'know. It's said an old Colonel addressed his soldiers on the eve of some famous battle or other and said, inter alia, "You'll be telling your grand-kids about this one, men." To which a grizzled old two-striper retorted from the relative safety of the rear ranks, "Oh no doubt. And mightily bored they'll be!"

 

It was a long time ago, during the early Seventies. Firstly we just tried to not stand out from the rest. One thing I think we all learned to do was just stand there and look as if we'd nothing but solid concrete between our ears. The military have a name for this; they call it "Playing the gray man". They teach it to Special Forces and others of the same ilk so they will have an inkling of how to survive if they are unfortunate enough to be taken prisoner. On a lighter note, if you can learn how to do this along with another little trick, you'll find it comes in very handy if you want to play cards for serious money.

 

The downside is that if you become a professional then you, like most such people, will probably end up with ulcers and other ailments related to repressed emotions. You might also do well to peruse thoroughly a slim volume known as The Expert At The Card Table, but please do bear in mind that its author, a certain Andrews 'tis said, supposedly came to a very bad end. (I mention this lest any be tempted to use the book's contents for other than educational purposes). Still, if you can't stay away from card tables ... might's well not cheat yourself by giving off "tells" eh?

 

The other thing was to make sure your face reflected the same emotion as everyone else's, regardless of how you happened to be feeling at the time. That's the true meaning of "keeping a poker face" and again we used it so as not to stand out. Y'see, if they'd started their day feeling as happy as a pig in mud, you'd be a bit silly to go around with your chin on the floor makin' the place look untidy, wouldn't you?

 

If on the other hand they had gone to some trouble to make you feel miserable (and they would now and then go to considerable lengths in that direction) then your old boat-race (face, puss, mug, dial, ) had better make 'em think their efforts hadn't been wasted, see? And that was as it rightly should be; sure and they'd gone to all that trouble for your own good, hadn't they now?

 

Now this attitude of theirs wouldn't put one in mind of the child-raising methods advocated by Roy Gotta Teach 'em A Lessin and Jimmy Dogwalloper Dobson, would it? Perish the thought! Catholics abuse kids, fundamentalist christians don't, do they? Mind you, I don't think they would really disapprove of the straps used on us; these would fit in with their own interpretations of the old testament and child-rearing in general. Like the good Saint James, they too believe in "the laying on of hands and other good works". However even drongos such as Is Anyone Ever Gonna Learn 'im a Lessin and The Dogwalloper realise that now and then other idiots over-do the good work so ...

 

It's only from a practical point of view they'd disagree, and that only because you can't have godless Liberals complaining about excessive bruises now can you? Hence the cottage industry that has sprung up to patent and market devices that will hopefully supply the pain and not the welts and bruises. You've got to admire good old-fashioned Yankee ingenuity, I must say. One such device known as the BStick is now quite likely a best seller in certain adult circles ... but that's another story.

 

However, as to emotional bruising and scarring, I'd like to tell you about the worst night I spent as a kid in boarding school, a night for what it's worth that didn't involve any physical pain on my part, ironically.

 

Week nights they'd feed us from 6 to 6.30 pm. We had half an hour to eat whatever pigswill they served up and when that was over we were moved column a blob over to a school block for two hours compulsory study. They'd have formed us up and marched us there (I think some of them would have gladly taught us the goose-step to that end) but the Criminal Code forbids military style drill in schools with the exception of Cadet Units.

 

Anyway there was a rule of silence, and that, of course, was perfectly understandable. Some nights we were supervised by lay teachers; these were generally not too bad. That night however a brother I'll call Pigface had the duty. Pigface was the sadistic paedophile I mentioned in an earlier post by the way. Right from the start it was clear he didn't consider the rule of silence to apply to him. He bellowed like a caricature of a Company Sergeant Major (Top Kick in the US).

 

I say caricature because many civilians think, wrongly as it happens, that Sergeants Major are always bellowing; the fact is they do use a "command voice" as it's known when there's a good reason to use it. More importantly, they never lose self-control; it would be the death of their career if ever they did and well they know it. By contrast Pigface had lost it. Totally.

 

He was in a vile and dangerous mood. I knew that by the way his eyes were flashing. I had seen them flash like that a year earlier in a couple of little one-on-one scenarios involving so-called "discipline". They reflected a sadistic lust and power-drunkenness that came over him every so often and right away I knew I wouldn't get any study done, none of us would. It would be a matter of avoiding being hit for two hours, that's all. Then too, some of us didn't give a damn if they were hit or not. It would hurt but that didn't matter; even some serious pain would be well worth teasing the lion, get me?

 

It was, I'd say, a thing the likes of Ain't Learned A Single Lessin and The Dogwalloper will never get, not if they try till the sea turns pink. Fact is you can break some kids by using pain, with others you'll only get the (dubious) benefit of the exercise. We had one kid who was well and truly busted. I can see his face in my mind's eye as I write this and I had rather I could not. Then we had other kids like myself who would play the game because they'd no other choice. We were fatalists, we just accepted that every once in a while we would be hit whether we deserved it or not but as we didn't like being hit we tried to avoid it where we could. Thus we became liars and (some of us) quite good at play acting and bluff. Ring any bells?

 

As I said, we also had kids who didn't give a damn about anything. Whenever they could get away with it they would be rebels. A couple years later two such were thrown out. Rumour had it they'd organised a menage a trois with a local good time gal and were caught at a rather frolicsome stage of the proceedings. I liked neither one of them, but I had to admire their style. As partners say at cards, if you are headed for a disaster you might's well make it a good 'un; life's far too short for half-measures!

 

We had a few rebels with us that night. They subtly egged Pigface on to even greater efforts. He was like an untrained and ill-disciplined Infantry Company trying to advance over difficult terrain whilst under harrassing fire from sharpshooters and stay-behind parties. To teach another "lessin", "Up the guts and plenty of smoke!" is not the way to go. Takes rather more finesse than that, but I'm not here to teach IMTs (Infantry Minor Tactics), am I, so let's just say Pigface really got his snout pushed in the trough shall we?

 

For every one of the kids he hauled to the front and belted across the backside two or three more would start up, but, and this is what got me, Pigface didn't give a damn, my impression was that he was really about to blow his bung. Of course our rebels were counting on that, what if he'd taken a heart attack or something? He would've been no great loss and bejasus it would have been the fun of Cork!

 

It took him, no word of a lie, one and a half hours of our study period and several more beatings to establish any sort of control over us and he only got that because our rebels had tired of their sport. A man who knew his business would have achieved control in five minutes or less with no more than a command voice and a hard look or two; any teacher worth their salt knows how it's done. I had done no work in that hour and a half, what was the use trying to compete against all the noise? Besides which I'd more important things to think about, like my hide.

 

For the next thirty minutes I remember sitting there up front. Pigface was sitting no more than a couple feet from me, malice towards all of us radiating from his eyes. When he was like this he would scare you more than when he was ranting. It was like I was sitting above myself watching what was going on, including watching myself fiddle with a calculator (they'd just come in that year) trying to look as if I was solving maths problems.

 

Y'see, with this nut case we were now in the eye of the storm. Study ended at 8.30 and he would have another half-hour (and he could quite easily stretch out that longer if he wanted) in which to beat a few more of us in the dorm.

 

As it happened, that is precisely what he did. I wasn't hit but I shall always remember the incident this way, the way I wrote about it when I first started writing little vignettes of those days:

 

Cold gun-metal alleyway, pale flesh running in the middle of it, and the swine of a black-clad Brother you called Pig-Face flailing away at thin pyjama-covered behinds and legs with an inch thick strap. The thing felt like the wrath of God when it landed, but otherwise didn't make any sense, just put the fear of Christ into you.

 

Wham! Towhead catches it and half turns, looking at Pig-Face over his right shoulder. Pain and hurt twist his face into a grotesque mask, and from his kerosene blue eyes there blazes a look of hatred and disgust such as you never want to see again. Not this side of Hell, anyway.

 

But Pig-Face is so wrapt in his little corrida that he takes not one blind bit of notice, just keeps on bashing away in a good and workmanlike fashion. Which is why the blond kid haunts you so.

 

I had to write about it as though it had happened to someone else as I couldn't bring myself to describe it any other way. Whatever way I wrote it though it would never get through the thick skulls of The Dogwalloper or he upon whom the Lesson is sure to be lost, would it now? The devil thump and thank the entire shit-ridden lot of 'em anyway! For if he doesn't, I really can't see there's much use us keeping a devil at all.

Casey

[Open_Minded]

I had to write about it as though it had happened to someone else as I couldn't bring myself to describe it any other way. Whatever way I wrote it though it would never get through the thick skulls of The Dogwalloper or he upon whom the Lesson is sure to be lost, would it now? The devil thump and thank the entire shit-ridden lot of 'em anyway! For if he doesn't, I really can't see there's much use us keeping a devil at all.

Casey

 

Casey ... I don't even know what to say... I mean in reading this the one thought I had, at the end, was it may not have happened "physically" to you, on that night. But, it DID happen to you, inside your spirit. That night has stood out in your mind and stayed with you all these years.......

 

Like the others, I sincerely hope you have found healing.

 

 

____________________

 

Were you ever able to tell your parents what happened at this school?

 

Did the other children tell their parents?

 

If so, what was the response?

[Taphophilia]

My step father who raised me was a sadistic prick. He was raised in such a place as you decscibe Casey, and I have come to understand why he became like he was. Though, I don't give him any excuses for the hell he put me through.

 

I was my mothers only child, but I had two older step brothers and a younger step sister. They came to visit every weekend. During the week, I was the only outlet for his temper. Then I became older and the sexual abuse started. I couldn't have friends over because he would try things with them. He'd try stuff with my step brother's girlfriends, so they stopped coming around in their teens. He never tried anything with my step sister because she was his natural daughter.

 

He would come into my room at night when I was sleeping and crawl in bed with me. I would wake up and start crying, then he'd leave. I tried to put a lock on my door but my mother threw a fucking fit about it and made me take it off. I had to make sure all the curtains in my room were closed because he would be out there watching through the window. It was the same when I took a shower or a bath. He would offer me money for sexual favors which I refused, but as I found out later my cousins, my mothers nieces, did accept.

 

When my mother met him, he was a successful, well dressed, business man, and that is how she always saw him. He could do no wrong in her eyes. When I was in high school he would grab me and wrestle with me in order to feel me up. I hated it and when I called to my mother for help when he was doing this in hope she'd made him stop, she would yell at me to stop screaming because it got on her nerves.

 

I was very depressed when I was in high school. I had a nervous breakdown when I was 15 and no one noticed. I went to Christian schools which didn't help. I was a social outcast there because I was a first generation Christian. In order to be accepted you had to a generational Christian. It was as though I was tained with original sin.

 

My step dad is dead now, so he'll never hurt anyone again. He left my mother nothing and left everything to his sons. My mother had to contest the will and she recieved a substantcial settlement from his estate. His sons have since pissed the money away.

[Naughtyhamster]

Yesterday a friend and I were eating at a restaurant when we heard a kid scream rather loud. As in my friend's neighborhood there was a child abducted just right down her street recently she was concerned that the kid in the restaurant was in some kind of trouble. When she noticed the kid was just throwing a tantrum and said to the mother "Oh so I see he was just throwing a fit and no one was bothering him. With a scream like that I had thought he was being taken from you." Well the mother started to act like a bitch so my friend just came back to our table to finish her lunch. The lady came back and yelled at my friend for "being nosy" and said "Do I look like a child abductor! How rude it is to accuse people of kidnapping!" I told her my friend was just concerned as just recently a child was taken in her neighborhood, and when she heard this lady's tot scream bloody murder she was just being sure the kid had not been taken when his mother was not looking. The bitch said "Kids scream for no fucking reason and you shouldn't put your nose where it doesn't belong!" Sheesh! My friend has done this twice before and other parents were grateful with her concern especially when they had not kept an eye on a small child who strayed out of thier sight in public.

 

 

I almost laughed when that bitch said "Do I look like a child abductor?!" as I've heard parents who use "Christian discipline" on their kids say "Do I look like a child abuser?!". I mean if you look at all the Christian websites they stereotype child abusers as either dirty old men in rain jackets who frequent parks where kids play, single mothers who do crack ( or just single mothers themselves), or homosexuals. I had an aunt who preached to my mother about "the dangers of single motherhood" when Mom had to leave my dad on account of domestic violence. She said as I was being raised without a father I was going to become a single unwed, unemployed, high school dropout teenage mother (or even a lesbian). Also she said my Mom was going to probably abuse me if she were to raise me on her own. Turns out I had some very loving grandparents who helped my Mom out so there was no stress or abuse that my aunt feared.

 

My aunt, by the way, stayed with an abusive husband and took her six kids to church three times a week. He beat her and the kids all in the name of "Christian discipline", and five of the six kids were rather fucked up when they grew up. They did drugs, a few dropped out of high school, and one guy beat his wife and kids as well as snorted cocaine. Her only daughter went to work at TBN and seemed the most "normal", but the abuse had taken a toll on her health. She was around my age ( I'm 29) when she developed a rare form of pneumonia ( usually found in people with AIDS or cancer) that weakened her heart and eventally lead to her having three heart attacks by the age of thirty two. Last time my grandmother talked to this aunt and told her I was in college, working, and getting A's my aunt said "Your daughter and you did a good job on raising your grandchild. I wonder why none of my kids turned out right." Sadly a year later, while caretaking for her sick husband, she died of a massive heart attack and she was only sixty years old. I think the stress of his abuse affected everyone on her side of the family in one way or another. My aunt had been in denial for so long about her family it was like she thought "My husband is not a child abuser! He was just giving strict discipline! The only people who abuse children are single mothers, dirty old men, and gays!"

[Casey]

____________________

 

Were you ever able to tell your parents what happened at this school?

 

Did the other children tell their parents?

 

If so, what was the response?

 

 

We were most of us raised in a macho culture. If a horse threw you, "Git right back on it!" sort of thing. Then too, my old school was and is, quite famous. There was a lot of money behind it. If a kid complained of this sort of thing and his parents went along with him the school would go into Damage Control mode.

 

"Sure you can have your day in court, no problem. But you must understand we have lawyers too and we will have our say. Your son will be cross-examined, as is our right. Surely you would want to spare him that?" (Bear in mind here that children were not given the same protection as witnesses as they would be today.)

 

Parents um and ah a bit.

 

"Now if you'll only be reasonable about this ... yes, we have had complaints about this man. We are already taking action, he will be placed elsewhere, it needn't concern you where, eh? What? You agree to this?"

 

Parent(s) "As long as he can't hurt any more kids ..."

 

"Oh we will see to that! Thank you so much for your understanding and co-operation in this matter".

 

I never overheard any such conversation but I can readily imagine such a one. The church had money and power, more influence over devout parents than would obtain now. The brothers were seen as Lares et Penates (Roman household gods whose statues/images were kept in a special niche in the house. It was also thought they could do no wrong.)

 

Let's restructure the hypothetical conversation a little.

 

"What? You're telling me there is an unexploded grenade in my garden?"

 

"Yes, it's lying on its spoon (arming lever)".

 

"Thanks for telling me about that. No no, there's no need to send for Police or Army people. I was in the War, y'know. I can fix that m'self. Whatever would folks say if I didn't take care of it? Ah bejasus they'd think I was a bit of a softie, wouldn't they, me being ex-Infantry an' all?"

 

It's easy enough to fix a grenade in that situation. All you have to do is cut a piece of fencing wire of a suitable guage to fit through the hole where the safety pin goes. You'd better not be butter-fingered of course but it's still easy enough. Pick up grenade. Be careful to ensure you hold the spoon down and insert the wire ...

 

But now what? You can't keep a grenade in your house or backyard. What if some kid found it? However you can put it in your pocket and take a walk. You needn't go far, just as far as your neighbour's place if you're feeling especially lazy.

 

Now all you do is toss the thing over his fence. (Camera cuts to the future) ... "Hey Fred you hear about that old grenade a couple of kids found yesterday?"

 

"Yeah Joe. Went off and done for the both of 'em din't it? What a terrible thing!" But to himself Fred would say, "Thank Christ it didn't happen in my backyard! Scandals like that I don't need."

 

The unexploded grenade in this case so to speak remained in place for the rest of that year (1973) In 1974 we heard it had been taken care of. Just how we weren't told, but I imagine the above method was the way of it.

 

In the meantime it was easy enough for Pigface to operate. We had no privacy at all. There were no curtains on our showers and we had to change clothes from our lockers which were next to our beds. Pigface supervised showers, and, curiously enough, often watched us change clothes. He had another little jollification up his sleeve.

 

He had two rooms, one for Summer the other for Winter, as befitted the state to which Himself had become accustomed. The one he occupied in Winter was just to the south of the dorm, a couple paces across a landing. The showers were cat-corner from his room, to his left as he would walk out. Thus every afternoon he had a free gawk show, but this wasn't enough.

 

For his next trick he culled out three or so of the best looking boys under his charge and forced them to sleep next to his room. In this way, whenever he felt in need of a sadistic fix, all he had to do was grab one of them for a little discipline (that amounted to six whacks on the backside with that strap of his usually). He took care not to do this too often, but he did it often enough for no other reason than self-gratification as far as I could see. There was a rumour that at least some of these beatings were on the bare butt. True or not I don't know, but knowing Pigface I'd say it was likely true enough.

 

One wonders if the likes of Lessin, Ezzo and The Dogwalloper don't perchance get their kicks in this way too eh? Fair question I'd say, given their obsessions. I'd like to hear a fundamentalist christian's response to that, so I would. I should be very interested to hear just what fucking gibble-gabble bibble-babble they'd use to justify these behaviours ... or should I say paraphilias?

 

Oh and what used to happen in Pigface's Summer Residence? The following is what happened to me in there the year before (1972). Again I found I had to write about this as though it had happened to someone else ... and I warn you it is not light reading:

 

A sweltering Saturday afternoon, a take-the-missus-and-kids-to-the-beach afternoon, and you bored witless. Then a stupid boyish escapade, after which you were locked inside Pig-Face's room and made to lie half-nude, face down on his bed.

 

Pig-Face towering over you. Short squat little man wearing black trousers, a grey jacket just made for the Iron Cross, and a dog-collar. His florid face glowed in sadistic delight, for wasn't he your lord and master under heaven; and didn't he have two shiny crucifixes on his lapels making him so? Bejesus he did, and Christ look down on you if you ever forgot it.

 

Your subconscious fear of the Church being greater than your fear of Pig-face made you just lie there in abject submission, feeling his eyes roving over you in leering appreciation of your adolescent curves and yourself recoiling in instinctive shame and disgust. It was like being a living Michaelangelo's David locked up with a raving nancy.

 

Then came his cold clammy fingers stroking your thighs and buttocks, and his lisping dirty-old-man-over-the-phone voice telling you how much he'd enjoy breaking you; while you, flesh crawling and cold shivers starting, fled in spirit to a tiny corner of your psyche.

 

Next, the beating. Great pistol-shot loud cracks followed by searing branding-iron hot blasts of pain that erupted at the base of your spine, ran white-lightning fast up your backbone, and exploded inside your brain like a million flashbulbs. Pig-Face, driven by sadism to greater efforts, grunted like an old sow enjoying a good wallow, and your fingers clawed into his bed in agony.

 

Finally the pain became such that your pride and self-respect crumpled, which was when, from the wreckage of your personality now completely dominated by Pig-Face, you heard a reedy voice screaming, after which nothing seemed to matter any more.

 

Because Pig-Face had broken you, made you his creature, you didn't care when he, with acrid sweat oozing out of him and dripping onto you, gloated over the purple welts he'd raised. Nor did you care when he ran his hands over them like a craftsman proud of his work. Nor did you care when, with a vacuous, just-got-his-bloody-rocks-off grin, he whispered various indecent sweet-nothings to you.

 

You wandered about afterwards like a lost soul somewhere between this world and the next. At last, in a shock-induced trance, you sat against a sandstone wall, arms hugging drawn-up knees and staring into space, unable for some terror-laden minutes to move or even speak.

 

There was no pain, just a nagging, empty numbness worse than pain, and a black shadow of fear, guilt and shame settling over you. And forcing its way deep inside you to a point from which it could not be easily reached, let alone cast out. The man I call Pig-Face in this story committed suicide in 1998. He was being investigated by Task Force Argos as a serial paedophile. (Argos is a Police Task Force responsible for policing these offenders.)

Casey

[Open_Minded]

Were you ever able to tell your parents what happened at this school?

 

Did the other children tell their parents?

 

If so, what was the response?

We were most of us raised in a macho culture. If a horse threw you, "Git right back on it!" sort of thing. Then too, my old school was and is, quite famous. There was a lot of money behind it. If a kid complained of this sort of thing and his parents went along with him the school would go into Damage Control mode.

 

"Sure you can have your day in court, no problem. But you must understand we have lawyers too and we will have our say. Your son will be cross-examined, as is our right. Surely you would want to spare him that?" (Bear in mind here that children were not given the same protection as witnesses as they would be today.)

 

Parents um and ah a bit.

 

"Now if you'll only be reasonable about this ... yes, we have had complaints about this man. We are already taking action, he will be placed elsewhere, it needn't concern you where, eh? What? You agree to this?"

 

Parent(s) "As long as he can't hurt any more kids ..."

 

"Oh we will see to that! Thank you so much for your understanding and co-operation in this matter".

 

OK ... I have to ask. Please do understand I am NOT suggesting that you do this. The worst thing I ever had to put up with in a Catholic school was a nun who liked to throw staplers at the kids, or use her rosary as a switching device (never on me) but I did see her swat at more than one kid over the years. So... I'm in no position to give advice.

 

But .. I am curious. We see - all over the news - stories about survivors of sexual molestation coming forward to sue the Catholic church, bishops who protected the pedophile priests, and the priests themselves. I don't ever recall seeing a news story about survivors of physical abuse such as you describe suing the church, schools, authorities who protected the abuser, or the abuser him/herself?

 

As I said, I'm just curious - and NOT suggesting that you should - but why do you suppose people are willing to take on the church over sexual abuse - but not this type of abuse?

[Amethyst]

(Open Minded) As I said, I'm just curious - and NOT suggesting that you should - but why do you suppose people are willing to take on the church over sexual abuse - but not this type of abuse?

 

My theory is that has a number of factors.

 

1. The Bible itself supports physical abuse.

 

2. Macho cultures where men/boys are expected to just be silent and take it.

 

3. Prejudice against homosexuals, the stereotype being that they are the only ones who commit sexual abuse. No such stereotype exists regarding physical abuse, AFAIK.

 

(Zoe)

What the hell is wrong with breastfeeding a six month old? I would think that up to a year would be pretty "normal" In fact a lot of those big time breast feeding groups encourage up to a year, and partial weaning of course during that time as well.

 

I dont' get why people make such a big hubub.

 

I think it's a Freudian thing.

[Casey]

(Open Minded) As I said, I'm just curious - and NOT suggesting that you should - but why do you suppose people are willing to take on the church over sexual abuse - but not this type of abuse?

 

My theory is that has a number of factors.

 

1. The Bible itself supports physical abuse.

 

2. Macho cultures where men/boys are expected to just be silent and take it.

 

3. Prejudice against homosexuals, the stereotype being that they are the only ones who commit sexual abuse. No such stereotype exists regarding physical abuse, AFAIK.

 

 

 

(1) I'd say that was pretty much right on Amethyst. I'd suspect the reason the bible supports physical punishment of children is that it's a quick fix, a method of parental control that requires no thinking. That would fit in with the nomadic tribal culture of biblical times. Plus what the hell, for some kids it might work at least temporarily, or seem to work.

 

The bible however doesn't mention the side effects. Some kids will lie to avoid a spanking and they will soon enough become accomplished liars to that end. Others eventually couldn't give a damn if they are spanked and in that case an example of the Law of Diminishing Returns may apply, the parent or other carer finding they have to spank harder and harder for less and less return. Oh well if the situation gets too bad, the bible says parents can stone their children to death so that fixes that problem, eh?

 

(2) Yes, very much so. If it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger. Or as one idiot put it to me at a re-union, "Ah, but it makes men out of 'em!" I noticed he hadn't been a boarder. He'd heard some of the tales of what happened to us but never experienced what we went through first hand. Oddly enough, he was a lot better at school work than most of us, as nearly all the day students were. Maybe because they didn't have to endure that bullshit and try to study at the same time, eh? More to the point, if you had kids and you "disciplined" them the way Pigface "disciplined" us, what sort of a 'man' would that make you?

 

Then you get people who will say, "What's the matter with you, cry-baby? I got worse'n you did, an' it never done me any harm!" You might as well say, "My Grand Dad fought in WW2 and got shot twice. He didn't die of that so I reckon bullets just can't be as lethal as some people tell you eh?" Yeah well if you asked Grand Dad's mate who was next to him at the time, he might tell you different. Unfortunately you can't, because part of the burst that wounded Grand Dad took his mate's head right off his shoulders. What was that you were saying about bullets just now?

 

(3) Paedophiles can be either heterosexual or homosexual. It is the same crime either way. Paedophiles can be male or female; there was a case just last year in the US where the perpetrator was a woman. (She got eight years). Then too, as I think I have pointed out, there can be a very thin line indeed between physical and sexual abuse.

Casey

[Amethyst]

(3) Paedophiles can be either heterosexual or homosexual. It is the same crime either way. Paedophiles can be male or female; there was a case just last year in the US where the perpetrator was a woman. (She got eight years). Then too, as I think I have pointed out, there can be a very thin line indeed between physical and sexual abuse.

Casey

 

Oh, yes, I realize that. However, a lot of church officials (and parishoners) don't seem to have grasped that concept yet.

[Seabiscuit]

WOW, I got pulled into an intense work week and look what I've missed. I'm printing all this off so I can read it in my internet free appartment!

 

Casey, your comment about physical abuse having a thin line between sexual abuse is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. The years in my early 20s, my therapist thought I was sexually abused but couldn't remember. Turns out, I felt sexually abuse during the beatings.

 

There's something about being hit. It demeans so much of what it means to be human, to have value. I've spent years looking for my value and what I'm worth. It wouldn't have mattered how much love or affection they poured on after the beatings that would have given back my value as a human. You can't give and take that kind of thing. You can only take.

[Casey]

WOW, I got pulled into an intense work week and look what I've missed. I'm printing all this off so I can read it in my internet free appartment!

 

Casey, your comment about physical abuse having a thin line between sexual abuse is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. The years in my early 20s, my therapist thought I was sexually abused but couldn't remember. Turns out, I felt sexually abuse during the beatings.

 

There's something about being hit. It demeans so much of what it means to be human, to have value. I've spent years looking for my value and what I'm worth.

 

 

 

In 1971 I was sent to the Junior branch of the catholic boarding school I have written about. It was the first time I'd been away from home but I wasn't long after learning the way of it. The Headmaster in that place wasn't a sadist I'd say, but he was an extremely bad-tempered man. On one occasion he stormed into our classroom early one school day when he was very much out of sorts. I have rarely been as scared in my life as I was that morning, but such was my luck that he turned on me.

 

He just rattled off a whole pack of questions about the catechism I think it was. The answers were written on the blackboard as I remember but I couldn't see them; my eyes were bad and I didn't realise it. When I stammered trying to answer the bastard he slapped my face and kept that up until I wet myself and passed out. He then left me as I was and went back to his own classroom. I don't think the lay teachers ever protested over this sort of behaviour. It was as though they were Sergeants or Corporals in the Army and he the Regimental Sergeant Major of their Battalion. Junior Non-Coms don't go agin an RSM, not if they want to keep their stripes they don't.

 

He was a strange sort of fellow. I think all of us have got angry over something at some time in our lives. He would become angry over many things but he would remain angry. If some tiny little thing happened on Monday, he would still be angry come Friday. Whatever we did, it was rarely, if ever, good enough. We were harangued from morning to night; his usual topic was what worthless no-hopers we were and the bad ends the most of us would surely come to. If he'd used the term worthless sinners he'd have got on right well with any of your Fundies, I'm thinking. He would, in fact, have been to being a barking mad Calvinist in that case.

 

He boasted of having been a boxer at one time. After he joined the christian brothers (to avoid the draft in WW2, some maliciously said) and became a Headmaster (Principal) I think he saw us kids as mobile punching bags, always available as an outlet for his anger and/or frustration. We also came in handy if he wanted to practise come-along holds and Judo throws; he used one of us one night in a rather long, anger - fuelled as always demonstration of these things. That was another bad night I see in my mind's eye now and then. It really is amazing how often a kid can fall down a set of stairs or bounce off walls so it is.

 

Now that was a real Dobson's Dog, my way or the highway style demo I might tell you. Took him at least a half-hour to regain control of himself if memory serves. It was perhaps fortunate that he'd never taken an interest in pistol or revolver marksmanship. He was, I do believe, the sort who just might have taken to shooting bottles off our heads. Yet parents never saw this side of him. I just had to marvel how genial and jovial he managed to make himself appear on Speech Night that year. (I don't know what you would call a Speech Night in the US, but for us that was the night they'd present academic and sporting awards and speechify on all sorts of topics.) Oh he could be a prince of a fellow towards us too, but only when the mood took him. Trouble was, it didn't so take him very often.

 

I believe most of his frustrations at that time were caused by the year (1971) being a very wet year. Besides boxing, his other favourite sport was football, but as we were rained out he never got a chance to field a team. As with many a has-been or a never-was, he liked to bask in the reflected glory of a win. Absent that, he was an angry frustrated old man but as long as he had us for punching bags, sure and what did that matter?

 

Well, that was physical abuse without a sexual component. He did own and use a strap (same style as I've already described) but only on our hands. As for sex, I'd have said he had a horror of it. We once saw a movie called The Blue Max. He took it unto himself to block out a bit of a romp involving Ursula Andress and George Peppard but in the same movie he'd no objection to us watching a British Tommy bayonet a German Landser then gut shoot him to blow the bayonet clear. It was weird, you'd have thought a man and woman having sex was wrong but close-quarters killing was fine. I suppose he'd have liked to have done that kind of thing himself, who knows? At any rate he hadn't read Horace:

 

Far wiser is he, who rather than go to war, stays at home and caresses the breasts of his mistress

 

[/

 

 

Pigface's style of physical abuse on the other hand had a most definite sexual component to it, as I think I've demonstrated. Deny it as Fundies will, there is, I would argue, a darker side to their style of child "discipline". You only had to see Pigface's eyes light up at the prospect of some action. The French language has a turn of phrase that means "to strip a person naked with one's eyes" and that's exactly what he would do just as he would hit one of us. I saw it often enough.

 

From what I later learned of his background, he had himself been abused that way as a child, both at home and, one presumes, at school. He, like most of the brothers was a product of the catholic educational system and had, I think, entered the order from school. He would have said he had a vocation and he may have done, that's between a man and his conscience, but I'd say he joined because the order both gave him the chance to be a voyeur and to fulfill his sexual fantasies under the guise of "discipline".

 

It also gave him power. Give a certain type a wee dram of ardent spirits and you'll get no sense out of them for a week; give another type one tiny teaspoon of power and you'll catch a glimpse of the next Fuhrer, or Fuhrer wannabee anyway. Many are called but few are chosen ...

 

 

1. Taken to a private room

2. Told to undress (or undressed if too young)

3. Took a submissive position

4. Hit until submissive/broken cry

 

 

In my worst encounter with Pigface as detailed in my last post, I was made to take up two, might've been three, submissive positions during the encounter. I suppose the likes of Lessin advise using only one position to avoid temptation, then again maybe they don't.

 

5. Redressed and held with love

 

Pigface had a version of that too. Again during my worst encounter with him or I should say at the end of it, he offered me a "massage". There was something in his tone of voice and in his eyes that told me this was a flat-out sexual invitation, so I refused. He never used that tone of voice or gave me that look ever again, for which I was grateful, but there was always something about him afterwards that made my skin crawl.

 

I have heard stories that others may not have been as fortunate.

 

I suppose Fundies will say the above is an example of their gawd looking after a child, but I would put it down to a blend of intuition and common sense.

 

It wouldn't have mattered how much love or affection they poured on after the beatings that would have given back my value as a human. You can't give and take that kind of thing. You can only take

 

I can only heartily second that.

Casey

[Seabiscuit]

Casey,

 

I was reading your story last night. I was very sad afterwards for you and for myself. You said something that struck my core. The idea of having moods that matched those in charge. I remember coming home from school wondering what mood my mother would be in. I did match hers. If she was in a bad mood, then I made myself as compliant as I could and scarce if possible. If in a good mood, I could relax a little but was careful not to do something that would alter the situaiton or her mood.

 

In my letter to Roy, I talk about living in a cheerful, obedient shell. They didn't want me to have my own attitudes/moods. They had one picked out for me. After the beatings, I was to be cheerie and happy. Anything less was a crime deserving of another beating. I don't know about you, but I would have sold my prized position not to have back to back beatings--those were the worst. Tissue was raw and getting hit again was extra painful.

 

What I hated was the when my siblings and I would compare crying. Crying was a shameful thing. Those who cried little or not at all were to be held in awe. I cried until I was about 11. Then I could take the pain for a while, but they wanted a broken cry so I could only hold out so long. Mother beat me after I was around 12 and she didn't hit so hard.

 

I use to tell my self that I would be a good girl from the moment after a beating so that I could be a real person. There were so many rules to remember and moods to follow, I never reached that goal.

 

The stupid things we told ourselves about what it meant to be a child. I guess even survival is a messy business.

 

Casey, why do some love those that beat them? I remember intensly loving my parents even though they beat me. I know of parents who say their children are more loving when they implement the Lessin and Dobson stuff. (I haven't funny names for these men like you!)

 

s

[Casey]

Did Lessin ever respond to your letter? (I've read it by the way; it's very good)

Casey

[Seabiscuit]

Did Lessin ever respond to your letter? (I've read it by the way; it's very good)

Casey

 

Well, I sent it to him via mail. Chris Dugan sent him another invite to respond on the site. Roy has been as silent as the grave.

 

Incidentally, the Lessins are friends of my parents. Well, really my mom. My dad has little to do with that family due to his new insights.

 

What's strange is that my mother decided she didn't want to read the letter and hasn't spoken of it sense. I just recently announced to my family that I'm agnostic. What my family doesn't like about me they ignore as if it doesn't exist. So conversations are friendly and happy around topics that are approved. Kind of strange...do you see a pattern? What you don't like doesn't exist; what you do does exist.

 

This outlook is for the birds!

 

b

[Open_Minded]

Seabiscuit and Casey I do have some questions for you later. I'm just trying to wrap my head around all of this.

 

In the meantime you may want to check out the following thread:

 

http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?s=&s...ndpost&p=161207

 

What is it about Florida? Chris de Vidal lives in Florida as well. I would've guessed Texas myself.

[Seabiscuit]

I've been wanting to say this all day. Casey, we have a power that we didn't have when we were little.

 

The Lessin, Dobson, and Pearls of the world get to do what they do because we're silent. We can't sue them because its totally socially accpetable to spank a child. But if we start talking openly, they lose their power.

 

I wish I could send a message to the Lessin, Dobson, and Pearls group through a magic channel. I'd say this,

 

"I know what you teach and I know how it feels. I was ashamed to speak up before. I healed my shame and now I share my experience from your training with anyone who will listen. You'd better be scared because you can't just train parents in an environment of quiet. The little children you encourage parents to beat grow up and talk. They will talk because we're talking.

 

We're your worst nightmare. We are not just individuals who feel sorry for chidren. We were in those rooms, laying naked over those beds, with our parents beating us just like you taught them. We know what it feels like to experience such intense pain. To wonder when the pain will stop. To wonder if we're going to die. We carried the broken skin and bruises on our bodies. We hurt as we sat at school and took baths. Our spirits broke as our parents beat us under your instruction. We clung to our parents as if our lives depended upon our clinging. We professed love and admiration for our parents after they beat us. Then we went out into the world lost, broken, and lifeless.

 

Get your arguments together because you're not going to teach in a place of silence anymore. We'll talk and parents will know that you are nothing more then spiritual child abusers. I hope your very afraid because we've found healing and now we can talk."

 

I decided to start writing my story. I need to find some time and just write one chapter. I don't know what will happen with my writing, but at least I'd have it started. My gut is telling me, Casey, that our stories maybe very important in the future.

 

It never hurts to dream!

 

s

[Open_Minded]

Casey, why do some love those that beat them? I remember intensly loving my parents even though they beat me. I know of parents who say their children are more loving when they implement the Lessin and Dobson stuff. (I haven't funny names for these men like you!)

 

Seabiscuit and Casey .. Just reading your posts has had a very deep impact on me. All through them I try to imagine what it must have been like and consistently come up blank. There really is no way to imagine...

 

And throughout I have wondered about forgiveness - how you find it, how you heal and move on?

 

Seabiscuit you write about intensly loving your parents - that is beyond my ability to comprehend. I'm sorry - I don't want that to come across as a judgment. Please take what I said as respect - because that is the way it is meant.

 

But you ask "why do some love those that beat them"? And I find myself wondering the same thing. I have to assume that in other areas of your life your parents gave you love?

 

And even now, even if your mother does not acknowledge the things that disturb her, she still accepts you as her daughter? I assume this because you speak of family gatherings....

 

So... what I'm seeing is that even though you and your siblings went through this awful thing, so awful that many would have disowned their parents, that you are still a family. So.... was there something else there .... something that allowed you to forgive when others couldn't?

 

I'm just asking - and please do not think anything I wrote is intended as advice ... it is NOT intended as advice because I am not qualified to give advice in this area. I just see an ability to forgive and move on. I admire it - and I wonder what else was there that made it possible.

 

And I sincerely apologize in advance if I have offended you with my observations or questions.

[Casey]

Casey, why do some love those that beat them? I remember intensly loving my parents even though they beat me. I know of parents who say their children are more loving when they implement the Lessin and Dobson stuff. (I haven't funny names for these men like you!)

 

I'm no expert but I'd say that is because, despite everything, they were and are your parents. In strict biological terms, an unborn child is a parasitic organism, no more and no less. It depends on its host (its mother) for its survival. When it comes into the world for a while it is still a parasitic organism; it can't do anything for itself. It is dependent on its parents for food, clothing, and shelter.

 

However the infant's mind is a tabula rasa, a blank slate, and it is the parents' responsibility to see to it that as far as they can be, the right things are written on the slate. Unfortunately, children don't come with an owner's manual.

 

Thus does a bond develop. Unfortunately fundamentalist christians don't quite see it like that. The slate isn't blank, it has the Adamic Curse written upon it, to wit, Original Sin. Given that, they see it as their god-given duty to beat the devil out of their kids. All this you know, of course. They don't have an owner's manual but b'gawd they've got the Wholly Babble, that most Holy of Books ...

 

Wherein it is related that an old tyrant by the name of Solomon produced, through his numerous concubines, what must have amounted to a whole Regiment of kids. With such a large number he had to find some simple and effective method of discipline. That he did, and that method of course was what was referred to in Classical and later church Latin as nolenti baculis or "a stick for the obdurate". In other words, spanking. Solomon was, I'll wager, not the first to have thought of the idea, but some of his sayings were preserved for posterity, as is also well known.

 

Now some children are by nature biddable (docile) and others aren't. The reason ritualised spanking such as that laid down by Lessin, seems to work, and children subjected to it may well appear to be more "loving" isn't hard to find. It works on children whether they are biddable or not. If biddable it doesn't take much pain to make them submit, if not, it takes more but the end result is seemingly the same. The biddable ones will be deterred by the memory of the pain and the not so biddable ones will think to themselves, "Jeez, if ever I do that again I'll need to be a bit more bloody careful how I set about it, won't I?"

 

It would seem that people like The Dogwalloper and Lessin have a preconceived idea how children should look, emotionally speaking. They should always appear to be loving and cheerful, or repentent if that's called for. If they don't appear cheerful when the parent thinks they should be that's a reason to spank them, on the other hand if a solemn mien is wanted and they don't produce one, that's a reason to spank them too. It doesn't take long for the biggest fool god ever put breath into to learn to dish up whatever face is needed, now does it? Especially not when they've been put through the Bejasus That'll Teach 'Em A Lessin School of Dramatic Art.

 

I shouldn't think Cain't Be Bothered Learning A Greek Lessin knows this, but for his benefit I'll say it anyway. The Greek word hypocrite originally meant "actor" in the sense of one who plays a part on the stage or screen. What Lessin has produced is a method of training actors, or hypocrites like himself. Just a shade ironic, isn't it? We don't want to turn our children into mature adults whose faces will reflect what they are feeling, but hypocrites are perfectly acceptable, as long as they're church-crawlin' and gawd-fearin' hypocrites that is.

 

Having said all that, parents like yours, Seabiscuit, don't just hand out spankings. You and your siblings lived under their roof and were fed and clothed by them. And they would, I suppose, have loved you in their own way. They'd got a funny old way of showing it, but you know what I mean. In addition to showing "love" because they fear what will happen if they don't, abused kids like yourself also have a fear of the unknown. Why stay at home and show "love"? To use one of my limited stock of French phrases, "Faute de meilleur" (For want of better). If your parents kicked you out, wherewith then should you be fed and clothed? Or to use more modern English, "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't!"

 

And what of children who are not so biddable? There comes a point where the situation would remind you of a story I heard when I was attached to 6RAR for an exercise. (Royal Australian Regiment, a Regular Infantry Battalion). The story isn't unique to 6RAR, variants of it, I dare say, would be heard in the US Army as well.

 

It seems a Digger (GI) punched out a Corporal one day. He ended up on a fizzer (charge) and fronted the Orderly Room or Kangaroo Court as we used to call it. When to nobody's surprise he got thirty days in the pisscan (Brig or Stockade) and a fortnight's stoppage of pay plus a fine, he asked for the sentence to be doubled.

 

"Why?" asked his astonished Captain.

 

"C'mon Skipper it's only fair, I want me money down for the next round!" the Digger answered. As why shouldn't he have, his blood being up and his temper in his knuckles?

 

There y'go Mr There Endeth The Lessin.

Casey

 

PS Seabiscuit, I found one of the best ways to deal with my issues was to develop what we'd call a larrikin sense of humour. It's better to laugh than to cry mate. Cry first if you must, sure, but always, if you can, try to think of the funny side of things. As for funny names, here in Downunder land, inventing these was a minor art form.

 

On the Melbourne waterfront the wharfies (stevedores) were famous for it. For example they used to call one bloke "Hydraulic" or "Ten Ton Jack" because there was nothing he wouldn't lift (steal). Another bloke was called "The Judge". He was always to be found sitting on a case. Of Scotland's finest Single Malt, usually. Another they called Mudguard (There was a body on top and crud underneath). I think NewYorkers indulge the habit as well.

[Seabiscuit]

I'm not offended at all. I have very little contact with my family now. I don't wish them ill; I just don't find them comfortable to be around. I can't stand them to touch me. And they don't accept me. They ignore the parts of me they don't like and talk about their strange brand of xianity.

 

The intense love I talked about I remember because I beat my little sister three times. I haven't wanted to say this because I feared losing respect from all of you. I was 11 years older and baby sat my sister constantly. Mom and dad were emotionally unavailable most of the time. Dad showed me how and explained how to do it. That's why I know both sides so well. I remember my sister clinging to me afterwards with such intensity. I felt like the center of her world. I was sick because I caused her that pain. After two or three times, I told my parents that I would never touch her again. I was so sick by the entire ritual. I was probably 14 or 15 at the time.

 

If this changes your view of me, I understand. I've had to come to terms with it myself. I've tearfully asked my sister to forgive me.

 

I was both repulsed and intense on my parents when they beat me. As I grew older repulsion took over.

 

Forgiveness is hard won. I'd say it has more about me moving on then about healing of the relationship with my family. I'm still the black sheep. I have friends closer to me then my family is. That's ok most days, but sometimes I feel sad at my loss.

[Open_Minded]

I'm not offended at all. I have very little contact with my family now. I don't wish them ill; I just don't find them comfortable to be around. I can't stand them to touch me. And they don't accept me. They ignore the parts of me they don't like and talk about their strange brand of xianity.

 

The intense love I talked about I remember because I beat my little sister three times. I haven't wanted to say this because I feared losing respect from all of you. I was 11 years older and baby sat my sister constantly. Mom and dad were emotionally unavailable most of the time. Dad showed me how and explained how to do it. That's why I know both sides so well. I remember my sister clinging to me afterwards with such intensity. I felt like the center of her world. I was sick because I caused her that pain. After two or three times, I told my parents that I would never touch her again. I was so sick by the entire ritual. I was probably 14 or 15 at the time.

 

If this changes your view of me, I understand. I've had to come to terms with it myself. I've tearfully asked my sister to forgive me.

 

I was both repulsed and intense on my parents when they beat me. As I grew older repulsion took over.

 

Forgiveness is hard won. I'd say it has more about me moving on then about healing of the relationship with my family. I'm still the black sheep. I have friends closer to me then my family is. That's ok most days, but sometimes I feel sad at my loss.

 

Seabiscuit ... this does not change my opinion of you at all. It explains much of your compassion for both sides - your ability to write to Chris de Vidal that your parents are good people and that they love you.

 

I am also sorry for your loss. And for your family's loss

 

Did any of your other siblings question this method of child discipline and reject it? Have some gone on to repeat the pattern themselves?

 

Again, I am sorry for such pointed questions. I'm just trying to wrap my head around all of this.

 

Thanks for your understanding and patience.

[Seabiscuit]

Seabiscuit ... this does not change my opinion of you at all. It explains much of your compassion for both sides - your ability to write to Chris de Vidal that your parents are good people and that they love you.

 

I am also sorry for your loss. And for your family's loss

 

Did any of your other siblings question this method of child discipline and reject it? Have some gone on to repeat the pattern themselves?

 

Again, I am sorry for such pointed questions. I'm just trying to wrap my head around all of this.

 

Thanks for your understanding and patience.

Someone told me a long time ago that you can ask someone for a million dollars. They may very well want to give you the million bucks. However, if they don't have that much money, they can't give you anything. That's how I see my mom and dad's love. They have only one kind. It is the only love they know. It doesn't feel like love to me. Its not what I need from them, but it is all they have. This is why I have little contact with them. Their love can be toxic and I can only take it in small doses.

 

I have three other siblings. Two bothers and a little sister. Brother number one (18 months younger) married, moved to the south and has three kids. I know he spanks them but I'm unsure of how much it would be considered a beating. My bother scares me and is very religious--a fundy. The kids seem ok. My bother told me that in the 70s there was some big swing on strict parenting. Apparently, they aren't into strict. I have little contact with them. I'm closer to the kids.

 

Brother number 2 has a son and is in a messy divorce. He and his kid are a mess! I worry about both committing suicide. We talk openly but not frequently. He doesn't want to hear me out because he needs my parent's support--what they can give him. He lives a far away and his almost ex-wife is literally nuts--a fundy too.

 

Little sister is recently married to a scary guy with two step children. Those kids are really messed up and I refuse to be around the family. Way too much! My sister and I have been very close. She doesn't want me to feel sorry for the kids. She wants me to support her and her new husband--I can't.

 

I'm the only one who has been devoted to self healing and speaks out about the abuse. Everyone else talks to me in "whispers." And then the family pretends its close. I make calculated and careful visits.

 

At the moment, I'm working on over-coming the grief of not having a supportive family. I'm thinking of starting a women's group to discuss important life stuff. I look to friends now that I'm not as afraid of people.

 

Brother 2 was beaten until he was 18 yo. I worry so much about him and try to help when I can. Sometimes only being a good example is the best I can do.

 

You ask very gentle questions OM. Not to worry.

 

s