Child Abuse Story From David C Part 2
by David W.C.
(Springdale, Arkansas, USA)
October 15th 1968 we left our home in Oak Cliff (see Part 1 of David C's story) and moved to the suburbs of Dallas in a small town called DeSoto, an upper class town. We were very lucky to be moving up in the world. The move took quite some time for me to adjust. After all, this was the first time we had moved that I could remember, so this was a new experience for me. I was very excited at the fact that we were living in a brick house in a very nice town. We were not poor anymore and this was going to be the greatest change in my life.
For some reason I have always looked down on poor people and I always wondered what part of my childhood was the incident that taught me to feel this way.
I remember when I was about six or seven and I was playing with a friend on the block back in Oak Cliff. There was this younger kid that came over to play. My friend had said about the younger kid that "He was poor". I said something like oh ok, and immediately ignored this kid and started playing with my friend. The little boy would keep trying to join us, but I treated him like dirt. I don't know why I would do this, but as soon as I found out he was poor, I didn't want to have anything else to do with this kid. I considered him to be beneath me.
A few days later, my friend and I were playing again and this little "poor" kid came around again. Immediately, I told my friend to be mean to him and not play with him. My friend looked at me kind of funny like and said, "Why are you always so mean to that little boy?"
"Because he's poor," I said.
"He's not poor," my friend said.
"Yes he his. That's what you told me the other day."
"No, I said he was four," my friend replied.
"Oh," I said with a change of heart. "Then let's be nice to him and let him play with us." After that, I had no problem playing with the little boy. This was my way of thinking, even at a very early age. I still don't know why I did not like poor people, but that just stuck with me, so getting a new brick house in DeSoto made me feel like we were rich. But being rich would not compensate for the problems that still continued in my life with Frank and Mom.
The abuse continued on, just as it had been in Oak Cliff. But with Frank it continued in a different way. I was getting a little too old for beatings with a switch so he had other ways to make my life miserable. Mom started to cool down a little bit on the mental abuse, only because she wasn't around much. But when she was, it was still the same. Mom had a job now. Slowly she would be less and less dependant on Frank. Their marriage was slowly starting to fall apart.
I was in the sixth grade in 1968. New kid in town. Now all I had to do was start making some new friends, and since I was getting older, make plans for leaving my house of torture. It was a new start. New school. New town. New friends. New clothes. New everything. But some things just never change.
A few months earlier, Frank had bought a farm outside of Hillsboro, Texas and for a little while, it kept him busy and away from the house on the weekends. He would leave early Saturday morning. There was on old beat up trailer house on the farm, so he would stay there until late Sunday evening. I had a chance to start being a kid and getting some sort of life going.
I struggled very hard to make new friends, trying to fit in. I failed miserably. One thing about school when we lived in Oak Cliff was I was very good at making friends and not a bit shy. The move to a new school and town changed that for me, and I don't know why. I would eventually be in the nerd crowd at school because that was the only people that would have anything to do with me. I just couldn't get a break. I would never fit in for the rest of my years in school.
When you are a kid, you always look forward to the weekends. Weekends playing with your friends or going to the movies or going to six flags or just playing in the dirt. Since I couldn't make any friends, the weekends were my escape. My only joy, and my only chance to make any sense out of my screwed up life. Luckily, I was able to play with some of the neighborhood kids that lived on my block. I had a couple of kids that would play with me; they were kids that no one else would play with. The cool kids on the block would just pick on us. I loved the weekends. I would be able to do kid things and life would be somehow a little more tolerable. Mom was working and Frank was gone all weekend to the farm. I was in heaven. At least close to it.
Frank, once again, would soon put an end to every chance I would have at having any kind of childhood. He would take away my weekends. Not just one or two. All my weekends. Not just a month or two. All my weekends. Not just a year or two. All my weekends. The next five years of my childhood were just evicted. Never again as a child could I have a normal childhood like the other kids. Frank started taking me to the farm every weekend with him. Sometimes Donny would have to go, but most the time it was just me and Frank. It wasn't a picnic either. Hard manual labor. Eleven years old and I was cutting down trees, cutting limbs, carrying by hand, digging holes, etc. for the next five years. Not that manual labor is bad for a person, but it just took away the last chance I had at being a normal kid.
School during the week, working all weekend long at the farm, and more abuse.
The only thing on the farm was a rugged old run down mobile home that was at least 30 years old. It was very, very small and very dark. It had one bedroom, and beside it was an upper bunk. There was no one else around for miles. Me and Frank all alone for the weekend, a grown man and a young child all alone every weekend in a small trailer on a desolate fifty acre farm. That's all I can say.
The very nice Christmas that Mom always provided for us in Oak Cliff ended the day we moved to DeSoto. Never another Christmas gift after that. I had just turned twelve years old...I guess that was too old for gifts.
Note to David from Darlene: As you can tell, I've edited your above story. In order to ensure anonymity and privacy are maintained for you and your family, I've changed the name of the Drive you lived on to the town you lived in at the time: Oak Cliff. And David, while I believe it is very important for you to write all the elements of your story, this segment of my site is not conducive to memoir. I have therefore edited to zero in on your story of abuse, as well as the effects the abuse had on you. Again, I've tried to maintain the integrity of your story, while keeping a balance between the purpose of the page and your need to express yourself. I trust you understand my position.
You'll also note that I've posted the above story out of the order in which you sent them to me. I've done this because I want to give you more time to decide whether or not you really want me to post the submission you titled as Part Three. If you change your mind about it going live on my site, just let me know through the comments section of any of your stories. Since I want you to have time to change your mind, I will post it as your final chapter only if I don't hear from you.
Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From David C Part 2" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.
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