I read of those abused
Is hard to forget
I sported more welt
From being disciplined
on my back from Dad’s belt
Than the seven siblings
I grew up with
Never disciplined
As was I.
Nothing was stopping me
From running away
I loved my parents,
Brothers and sisters
I was no saint
But it seemed
I was the “Black Sheep”
Of the family.
Yet when he died
"I cried.”
I may not know your pain
but I knew mine......
some may remember
“The Good Old Days “
I remember none,
The good memories
Of my late teens
Was running through
The boondocks
While in the U.S Marines
It was like my soul
Was set free
From the urban
Incarceration
Of my youth.
I hear and see children of this kind of abuse and the abuse of all here that wrote comments about this work. Being a counselor for abused children it hurts my heart to see and hear how a parent could hurt a child. To me children ate gifts from God and should be treasured not beaten. I hope in time you will be healed.Thank God that people are more enlightened now and help abused children by reporting them and we can step in and save them from abuse.
hug
Kathy
It is often, perhaps too often, said that we boys can never really grow up until our fathers are dead. Only then can we dare start unlearning their teachings. Some of us never do. Thanks for surviving to tell us.
I can truly understand what you went through. I was the black sheep of my family also. I got married at age 18 to flee the wrath of my father also. It's in the past and that is where it should stay!
Much peace love and light
Amber
You were a real rascal and you know it! In our family, I was the one that got the punishment. I was whacked a couple of times, but my dad primarily threatened by using that big black belt and snapping it in a way that indicated what it would do when it hit bare skin. That was enough to frighten me into confessing that I was bad even though it wasn't my fault. I could take it, my brother and sister couldn't sometimes.
Sorry to hear that you are beaten and had to escape to the Marines. It certainly has shaped your character.
Can the whip compare to the abuse of neglect, hunger, never a word of encouragement, not one act of love, and the despair of longing for just a taste of normalcy day after day, year after year? I ask. But I understand your plight.
This is raw poetic truth. Thank you for sharing William. My dad used to whip me with a belt. Sometimes he was just angry at my sister for dating someone he did not approve of. I would say, "What was that for?" My dad would always reply, "That's for nothing, now imagine if you did something!" I am glad those days are over! Amen
I don't what is perceived as child abuse. Sometimes things that were normal in my childhood will probably perceived by others as child abuse in today's eyes. I remember often beat by my mom with a the broomstick handle, and believe me, it did hurt!!! I don't even remember what was the cause for all that beatings. Most of the time I didn't know what was wrong or what was it that I had done wrong. I used to have bruses on my arms and legs caused by the broomstick handle. The teachers and everyone saw that but thought nothing of it. It was because it was considered as "normal" punishment for kids from parents. My mom did that to me all the time when I was a kid; but my daddy NEVER laid his hands on me or anyone. Mommy was the one who carried out the disciplinary action.
With all that being said, I don't have any ill-feelings for my mother. She was very young. I had a great time with my parents when they moved to Canada to be with us. We begin to care for each other so much so that I grew to love them as much as I did. There were a lot of wonderful moments too with my parents when I was a kid as you can probably read that from my writings. I don't remember the bad memories, only the good ones because they have somehow superseded the bad ones. I still love my parents dearly as I can sense their presence daily to protect me.
Great thought-provoking poem!! Thank you for sharing!!
I suffered unmercifully which I was a kid from BAD whippings, but it was my mother who was the one dishing it out frequently. I cried not when she died. I relate.
First Edition Translation of Teselas by Carmen Crespo X111 César Simón Poetry Prixe 2016 Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospíde
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hug
Kathy
Much peace love and light
Amber
Of hurt and tears may your heart heal
Lady Mary Ann
Sorry to hear that you are beaten and had to escape to the Marines. It certainly has shaped your character.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane
Diana...
Welcome To Club:
Only Your Daddy Didn't
Beat you To Death...
Inwhile Pain May Go Away
Scars Will Remain Forever...
TRASK
With all that being said, I don't have any ill-feelings for my mother. She was very young. I had a great time with my parents when they moved to Canada to be with us. We begin to care for each other so much so that I grew to love them as much as I did. There were a lot of wonderful moments too with my parents when I was a kid as you can probably read that from my writings. I don't remember the bad memories, only the good ones because they have somehow superseded the bad ones. I still love my parents dearly as I can sense their presence daily to protect me.
Great thought-provoking poem!! Thank you for sharing!!
Sandie