I know I haven’t written in a while, but this weekend I got together with some family members and it trudged up some old memories. When I think about this title I am puzzled that someone with whom is entrusted to raise and care for children could come up with such tortures and heinous acts. I know that there are laws and severe consequence for people that torture prisoners of war, but are children to be treated like prisoners of war?
Growing up was always an adventure in emotions and lessons learned. If my child attempts to walk across the street without looking both ways I get down on my knees look him/her in the eye and explain the dangers of just running into the street. Now my “step-father” had other ways of teaching me “life lessons”.
Lesson #1: I LOVE milk always have, always will! When I was a kid I drank milk all the time with every meal. The problem was if I drank all the milk and my “father” (I put this word in parenthesis because he doesn’t deserve to be called a father, but it help move the story along) needed milk well that is where my lesson was to be taught. My “father” would come in ask if I drank all the milk, when I said yes he would put the gallon down on the table and go to the store. He would return with one roll of duct tape and proceed to tape the milk gallon with the duct tape. This would obviously make the empty gallon of milk a reputable weapon. When finished I would have to stand in the room with my arms at my sides (always with arms at sides and straight as an arrow) and he would proceed to beat me with the duct-taped milk gallon. He would always strategically hit below neck and upper arm area to hide any bruises. This became quite the ritual, because as a young kid it took a little while for it to sink in that I shouldn’t drink all the milk. You could imagine getting older and living with various people and there was always milk containers with just enough milk left in them. It drove people nuts, but that was my lesson.
Lesson #2: I LIKE ice cream, not love but I do enjoy a nice bowl of plain chocolate ice cream with little ice chips in it. As a side note I love to chew my ice cream, but that story is for another time. Well, the same thing would take place I would eat ice cream, finish what was left. My “father” would come in for some ice cream and it would be gone and the lesson would begin. This time he didn’t bother to put himself out by getting in the car and spending his money on duct tape. He simply marched me into the kitchen turned on the stove and held my hand over the fire until I got the lesson. I can still picture the bad fake brick wall in the kitchen, the hamster habitrail on top of the refrigerator, the layer of grease on the stove and range top. I would try and focus on something in the room and train my mind to focus so hard on that one thing that I couldn’t feel the pain. If I did focus enough and not cry the lesson would be over quicker. For years I never ate ice cream because of this. I’ve learned to get over it and there are some days when a nice bowl of plain chocolate ice cream with little ice chips in it is a great way to end a day.
These lessons stayed with me for a long time. I struggled with them. I struggled with the fact that this was how I was taught to discipline. Is the right way? Is this the way I should discipline my kids? I struggled with the obvious of trying to finish the milk and ice cream and not leave any. I know this sounds weird and crazy believe me I do. But to me it was an innate fear of not finishing those two things. It drove people crazy and you know what it drove me crazy. I knew no one was going to beat me or burn me, but I still did it. Well, I’m happy to say that I love being the one that finishes the milk and ice cream and instead of getting in the car to go buy duct tape I’ve learned to get in the car and go buy more….
TWTTIN
Growing up was always an adventure in emotions and lessons learned. If my child attempts to walk across the street without looking both ways I get down on my knees look him/her in the eye and explain the dangers of just running into the street. Now my “step-father” had other ways of teaching me “life lessons”.
Lesson #1: I LOVE milk always have, always will! When I was a kid I drank milk all the time with every meal. The problem was if I drank all the milk and my “father” (I put this word in parenthesis because he doesn’t deserve to be called a father, but it help move the story along) needed milk well that is where my lesson was to be taught. My “father” would come in ask if I drank all the milk, when I said yes he would put the gallon down on the table and go to the store. He would return with one roll of duct tape and proceed to tape the milk gallon with the duct tape. This would obviously make the empty gallon of milk a reputable weapon. When finished I would have to stand in the room with my arms at my sides (always with arms at sides and straight as an arrow) and he would proceed to beat me with the duct-taped milk gallon. He would always strategically hit below neck and upper arm area to hide any bruises. This became quite the ritual, because as a young kid it took a little while for it to sink in that I shouldn’t drink all the milk. You could imagine getting older and living with various people and there was always milk containers with just enough milk left in them. It drove people nuts, but that was my lesson.
Lesson #2: I LIKE ice cream, not love but I do enjoy a nice bowl of plain chocolate ice cream with little ice chips in it. As a side note I love to chew my ice cream, but that story is for another time. Well, the same thing would take place I would eat ice cream, finish what was left. My “father” would come in for some ice cream and it would be gone and the lesson would begin. This time he didn’t bother to put himself out by getting in the car and spending his money on duct tape. He simply marched me into the kitchen turned on the stove and held my hand over the fire until I got the lesson. I can still picture the bad fake brick wall in the kitchen, the hamster habitrail on top of the refrigerator, the layer of grease on the stove and range top. I would try and focus on something in the room and train my mind to focus so hard on that one thing that I couldn’t feel the pain. If I did focus enough and not cry the lesson would be over quicker. For years I never ate ice cream because of this. I’ve learned to get over it and there are some days when a nice bowl of plain chocolate ice cream with little ice chips in it is a great way to end a day.
These lessons stayed with me for a long time. I struggled with them. I struggled with the fact that this was how I was taught to discipline. Is the right way? Is this the way I should discipline my kids? I struggled with the obvious of trying to finish the milk and ice cream and not leave any. I know this sounds weird and crazy believe me I do. But to me it was an innate fear of not finishing those two things. It drove people crazy and you know what it drove me crazy. I knew no one was going to beat me or burn me, but I still did it. Well, I’m happy to say that I love being the one that finishes the milk and ice cream and instead of getting in the car to go buy duct tape I’ve learned to get in the car and go buy more….
TWTTIN
This is awful! Having grown up with foster siblings I have heard similar stories - ones of kids with the burn mark of the stove on the side of their face.
ReplyDeleteThey say that Karma is a bitch. I hope that one day your "father" faces his judgement for what he's done. A child should never have to go through this. Nobody should.