I’d have to say that the worst injustices are abuses. The definition of abuse in the dictionary has a couple of meanings. It can be to misuse or improperly handle, to force sexual activity upon, physical abuse, or to assail with contemptuous, coarse and insulting words, to revile. By this definition I would subcategory injustice under abuse, because every act of injustice is an abuse to the offended, whether emotional, mental, or physical.
I have had quite a bit of time these past couple years to ponder, dissect, and try to come up with some sort of analysis to explain my younger years. There is so much I don’t understand still, so much I still internalize as somehow my fault.
My parents divorced when I was two years old and the court gave custody to my mother with partial custody to my father, who I saw every two weeks and every other Wednesday for a couple of hours. I was too young at the time for the divorce to consciously affect my emotions, and this split lifestyle seemed rather normal to me. It was actually bearable until my father began letting new interests into his life. The first couple beaus were in his ( and my ) life for a matter of months, then I’d go to visit him one day and they would be gone.
When I was first introduced to Christine, I was informed that her and my father were engaged to be married, and I was introduced to my new step-brothers promptly. This abruptness didn’t register as anything out of the ordinary; I was quite excited to have brothers and I was charmed at the thought of having a step-mom, much in the way children are charmed at the thought of having braces, or crutches, or casts. It was cool. These early memories are extremely distant but I remember that before my dad re-married, I felt accepted into my new family.
My Dad and Christine married and soon after, my half-sister Kellie was born. I was absolutely elated to have a sister, and I couldn’t wait to be the “big sister”. As a side note, I realize that Christine was pregnant with my sister before her and my father married…hint..hint…I can’t quite put my finger on it, but around that time, I felt the attitude towards me begin change, drastically.
The first time I experienced the change, I can recall quite vividly. Looking back, spending weekends away from my mom at a young age, with a relatively new family, was in and of itself somewhat discomforting. I, at the age of five, did not know how to rationalize my emotions and I began to panic one particular weekend. I flew into tears missing my mom and ran to Christine for comfort and blatantly told her ¨I miss my mom¨. I was expecting her to put her arms around me and offer the chance for me to call my mom, but her face grew dark and she sharply reprimanded me, ¨Stop it, stop it right now, I don’t want to see you crying like this anymore. This is your father’s weekend to have you and you will not act like this and expect to get away with it.” At first, I remember being so shocked that she lashed out at me that I stopped crying immediately, trying to figure out what she thought I was “trying to get away with”, then it hit me like a ton of bricks that Christine was not like my own mother in that she understood me, I could not show my emotion. Christine took my five-year old hysteria for my mother and turned it into an attack pitted against her. How could I have known this would happen?
I continued to miss my mom tremendously whenever I was at my dad’s house, and would often escape to the bathroom to cry. Everything felt so foreign and unlike home. Christine had completely different house rules than my mother did. She did not allow her kids to watch tv without her permission, and they had select “appropriate” videos they could watch. At home, I could grab a drink, or a snack at my leisure, at my dad’s you didn’t eat unless Christine said so. There were play times she mandated. If she said we all were to go outside and play, we had to, even if I didn’t want to, or was tired. Christine also had chore times that we spent a great deal of time fulfilling. Sometimes, after my dad picked me up from my mom’s as soon as I arrived I was put to work cleaning. We always had something to do, and I almost never spent quality time with my dad.
One time I made the mistake of trying to confide in my dad at a family outing at McDonald’s about how I felt, and I told him I wanted to go home, then I asked him not to say anything to Christine. He looked somewhat aloof and bewildered, not uncommon for my dad, and said nothing. Somewhere between then and the time we got in the van Christine found out because she confronted me harshly about talking to my dad privately and re-iterated that I wasn’t going to get away with this type of behavior. I cowered in the backseat feeling trapped and angry at my dad for exposing me.
Things got worse as my budding friendship with my older step-brother took a sour note. I must note that what I experienced on a bi-weekly basis, he experienced every day. Christine seemed to hold him to a very high standard as an example to our younger brother, Jacob. Josh’s boyish whimsy always seemed to be getting him in trouble for behavior. When I was there, I became the scapegoat. I do not wish to delve into the nature of this behavior because my brother and I have recently re-united and reconciled our relationship. He is a different person and I do not wish to bring up forgiven issues. However, I was the victim of many intentional set-ups to get in trouble, which continued to paint a picture in Christine’s mind of the rebellious step-child.
I was too afraid to stand up for myself as I felt entirely alone while I was there, and when I tried to share things with my mom, I was careful as I feared that if she confronted Christine, it would make it worse for me when I was there. There was constant scrutiny of trivial behaviors, punishment, and threat of getting into trouble. I traipsed around uneasily, on guard for anything that would put me at odds with the Matron. My father was half the problem. He never took up my account. Undoubtedly, there were things that he did not agree with, and there were times were Christine took shots at his character, his opinions, the way he did things, and he would just sigh and take it. It was him that needed to change. May I add that Christine’s first husband left her, and there was always this control thing with my dad, fear that he too would leave her.
My dad would store up his frustrations, and explode at my brothers for the smallest things. Although Christine was an avid believer in spanking, with a belt or a wooden spoon,it was my dad who blew all the hazy boundaries of physical abuse. The shaking, the slapping, the throwing of my brothers are forever ingrained in my mind. The quick ejection of careless swear words accompanied by frenzied accosting are something that seemed so obtuse to my dad’s normally ultra-passive nature. I was told never to say anything about what I saw, and that what happened in that house stayed in that house. Well, I’m not afraid to speak anymore.
The older me and my siblings got the weirder life became. About the time my youngest sister Karalyn was a baby, Christine was homeschooling the kids. She convinced my dad that life would be better out in the country, so they found a house in Marlette and moved away from civilization. In the blink of an eye Christine decided to become a Christian, but of course, it was her own version of christianity, derived from some very retentive version of Baptist. Her religious experience called her away from all things wordly, which included, all major holidays including Christmas and Easter, the forsaking of wearing pants or any sort of modern clothing which was enforced on us girls, and the cutting of one’s hair and regular use of cosmetics. In it’s place we adopted strict dress code; Christine made us dresses, ( they were wretched), farm life, and since homeschooling was already in place, the kids were completely isolated to the nuclear family. Dream complete!
This madness went on for 5 years before I turned 18 and I was allowed to refuse to visit my dad without taking him to court. Although I was not there full time, when I was there it was pure hell. I was forced to wear dresses that made me look like Laura Ingalls Wilder, I did chores, and I was the object of disdain. I have so many fixed incidents in my mind that I would have to write a book to tell them all. About four years went by before I got in contact with my oldest brother, Josh, and learned more about his story. We were practically strangers growing up, we both noted this as we compared experiences. I learned about what he went through to leave that enviroment, being pretty much disowned while trying to become his own person.
So were does this leave me, well, partly unfinished. My sisters still live there and I am waiting to see what there fate will ensue. Will they become just like Christine, or will they see the light and get out of there. I pray for them all the time. I would like to reconnect with my father, but right now I would probably have to face Christine to do that and I’m not sure I’m ready for whatever that might entail. I do know that in spite of all of this, the true God has seen me through, and is helping me work through insecurities and mindsets I’ve obtained because of my experience. I see this as an obstacle that is preparing me to lend an understanding heart to others, to create a healthy fortification against manipulation and falsehoods I may encounter later in life, and to overcome fear and self-hate. As unjustifiable as experiences like this may seem, the value of what they can bring in retrospect is quite beautiful. I have also been blessed with some magnificent friends, mentors, and family that have showered me with love and brought healing to my heart. I give God credit for preserving my heart from being broken during those long years, and for turning my pain into glory. Glory for me is that I can be of true assistance to another individual who is suffering, or has suffered a similar fate. I don’t believe that anything is flippant and glib, but that everything has great meaning for a bigger picture.
Please pray for my family if you think of them, because they are still currently living this way. My brother and I are recovering and moving on but I want to see wholeness in dad’s life, in Christine’s, and my younger brother and sisters. Please join me in prayer for them.
k. lawler 