I looked for every possible answer which might explain why I had the parents I had. It is odd because I did not blame my father even though I understand completely he was as much at fault as my mother. He was there and should have protected me and not been so quick to administer the physical abuse when my mother would entice him to do so.

However, I never let it go that my mother was relentless in her infliction of pain. The two points I’ll make here are, first, she was raised with many of the same dysfunctions and cruelty and second, she didn’t have the skills and the education to stop the cycle of abuse.

Even as a child I understood how wrong it was for a mother to treat her children with so many abusive behaviors? I would defend and protect my younger brothers as well as the foster children my parents took in for five years.

Yet the one thing that helped me more than anything was letting go of the past. It took many years and far too many practices and modalities to shed the effects of all those years of abuse. But to move forward with my life and not have the influences overwhelm me, it had to be done.

But when Ted asked me why I felt sad when I talked about my father it was the first time I knew I was. Because we were raised Catholic, my father would not make us work on the property after church. I did however have to walk a mile down the road to the same chicken ranch I stayed at when my brother was born and polish chicken eggs so I could bring home a fresh cut chicken for Sunday dinner. I do have vivid memories of walking and holding the chicken legs as far away from me as possible.

When I got home my father was usually in his fabric covered recliner, watching one baseball game on the television and listening to another on the transistor radio. He had even wired the entire fenced in acre with speakers so he would always be able to listen to the baseball games.


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