Child Abuse Story From David C Part 4

by David W.C. (see Part 1 and Part 2 and Part 3 of David C's story)
(Springdale, Arkansas, USA)

Frank did provide us with a roof over our heads and food on the table. And he was very good at that. Sometimes working two jobs to do it. Maybe you could say that's why he never spent anytime with us or did anything. Frank only had time for one thing. Abuse. He made time for that.

Frank has been dead for over 20 years now. Nothing can ever change what happened all those years. What happened to me and my brother was a crime. I don't know what made Frank do what he did, but it doesn't change what happened. This kind of abuse affects your life and you can never forget it no matter how hard you try.

Every now and then I still feel the pain in my legs from the abuse, even though it's been years since my last beating. I will be sitting down and for an instant my mind drifts and I can feel the welps on my legs. It only lasts a second or two because I know now it's not real anymore. I guess it's kind of like when a man loses his arm, and for years after, they say he can still feel his arm itching. Trauma is very hard to get over in your mind.

I am 51 years old now and I have 3 wonderful children that I love with all my heart. I have to ask one question: How could a parent sit back, watch and not say a word, while their very own child is being physically abused? Beaten. Bloodied. Abused. I don't care if it's the 60's or today...NO child should ever have to go through that. Mom...how could you sit back and let Frank beat us until our legs would bleed and not do anything? How could you hear the screams of your little boys crying in tears "Please Frank, please stop" and not do anything? How? I do not understand. I do remember a couple of times hearing you say, "Frank, that's enough." Wait a minute. WHAT? Enough? So it's all right for a child to be beaten by a man with a switch on naked legs until they bled, until YOU think it's enough? How about "Frank, don't you touch my kids or I'll blow your fucking head off." No, I can't understand that, and you are the only one who knows but you won't ever talk about it. It would never change anything that happened, but I just want to know. I think you owe me that.

I would come close to believing that there was nothing you could do because it was the 60's and you had 4 kids and he did provide support...IF...you hadn't abused us too! Mom...how many times did you twist the flesh on our upper arm and call us a sorry slut? How many times did you compare us to Phil and Gary and wish we could be like them? Wow. That really makes someone feel important. How many times did you take 5 minutes out of your day to spend time with us? How many times did you try to nurture us by teaching us what life is about? In other words, what is right and what is wrong. No one ever taught me the difference between being a good person and being a bad person. How many times did you sew a button on my shirt for me? How many times did you say, "Everything will be ok" after I fell and hurt myself instead of saying, "You sorry slut, pay attention to what you are doing"? And one more thing, I NEVER once...EVER...for the whole time we lived in Oak Cliff, did I EVER hear the words...I love you. NEVER. Not once. I repeat. Not once. Always being told you are "no good" and you are a "sorry slut" and never giving even 5 minutes of your time all boils down to mental abuse. I might half way understand the punishment from you and Frank if not only did you two abuse us but maybe spent some time with us doing kid things to balance it out. Still wouldn't have been right, but it would have been better for me and Donny at least.

So you were the mental abuser and Frank was the physical abuser. There was sexual abuse too, but that's a door that I cannot open.

So I was mentally, physically and sexually abused. Wow. What a great life! Gina you said to my face, "David, you know if you and Donny would have had the same advantages that my kids have now, maybe you would have turned out better." Turned out better??? Turned out better??? How could you say something like that to my face? Just how bad did I turn out? Do you think I am a failure? What standards are you judging me by?

I think I did OK considering the hell put on me from the day I was born by YOUR Father. I'm sorry, you have no idea what I am talking about because the girls were always immune from the abuse. I don't have any bad feelings from the girls being immune from the abuse, but next time you think I am a bad person or I didn't turn out right, remember that it was your father and not mine.

Being happy is the most important thing in life. I live my life without doing any harm to anyone else in this world and I survive every day on my own and I am happy. And that's my philosophy on life. Don't hurt anyone else and be happy.

For some reason, all my life I have just wanted to be as close to all my family as possible. It hurt me as the years went by as we all grew apart. My last lingering hope has always been Thanksgiving. At least it's something to help me feel like a family. But I have realized that just being around for a holiday doesn't make a family. A family stays together through thick and thin over the years. Always there for each other in their times of need, even if it's just to say, "Hey, I love you."

I made hundreds of trips to your houses over the years to see you and I never got anything in return. You know, Nanny did the same thing and I asked her one day why she did that when no one but me would ever come visit her, and she said, "I am doing it for myself. It makes me feel good." I guess I was doing the same thing Nanny was doing. But that's what bothers me: if no one would come visit Nanny or me, then it doesn't make them feel good. No love lost there I guess.

Gail, Gina and Mom (not Greta) were at least there for me at the one lowest point of my life, and I thank y'all for that, but there is just more to it than that. The picture is getting clearer and clearer now.

When I first started writing this I felt good about my family and I knew their shortcomings, just as they know mine, but as the writing went on, the buried memories started to come out, and even memories that I never remembered until now. It has been very painful writing this and I am embarrassed to say that several nights I have cried from the painful memories. While writing this I have been reliving some horrible and painful events that I have completely forgotten or just blocked them out over the years. Other than a few thoughts that I couldn't pass off over the years, I am opening up after more than forty years and accepting what happened to me as a child. It doesn't make anything any easier, it won't change a single thing, and it won't make me a better person, but maybe I can bring the truth of my child abuse out in the open now and deal with it and put it into the proper perspective. I am not looking for sympathy, just understanding. This has made me realize the role my mom and my sisters played throughout the years and that I must have been suppressing it because I have a very deep resentment now and it won't go away.

51 years and never one phone call from you, Mom.

By the way, Phil is a homosexual and Gary is a drug addict. Still want me to be like them, Mom?

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