John 76 USA

by John Gavin
(Falmouth Ma. USA)

I suffered physical and mental abuse most of my life. It started when I was about 6 or 7 years of age. I was the oldest of 5 boys and no sisters.

I was told at 7 years of age to do all the chores my mother asked me to do. That was setting the table, after eating clean the table off, wash the dishes wipe them and put them away and sweep up the floor. IN those days there was no automatic dishwasher, you did everything by hand. When I was around 8 years of age I was told that from now on I would be responsible for my brothers behavior. It didn't take long for me to learn that was going to be a very big problem.

My brothers soon learned that they could do anything they wanted to me or with anything I owned and I did little to stop them. They learned that if I hit them in any way that I would have to go into the back room of our house and wait for my father to come in and deal with me.

When my father came into the back room he would close the door and told me what I shouldn't have done and would slap me very hard across my face. His fist closed and the slap became a punch as hard as he could punch, most of the time his punch would pick me off my feet and carry me across the room and on the floor. Off came his belt and he would hit me some 8 to 12 times with it. He often times would kick me in my rear end while lying on the floor wetting my pants uncontrollably from the beatings.

I didn't understand why or how he could hate me so much. I have heard him say to people that when my mother would leave me with my father as a baby, that I would cry all the time my mother was gone and that he felt like throwing me into the wall. That told me he hated me even as a baby. I said to myself why did he have me if I bothered him that much. Why have 4 more babies if he hated them so much or was it only me he hated.

These beatings were heard throughout the house because I would be screaming during all of this time. It would take a few weeks to a few months for the aches and pains to go away. I hated living in this house with my family. My mother knew what was going on during these beatings and did nothing to stop them, never said a word, never even looked into how I was after the beatings. In fact, she had ratted on me a couple of times and was wrong on what she said had happened that resulted in my getting another beating.

My mother and father in my life time never ever said that they loved me in words or actions. The only time they ever touched me was to hit me. When I started school in the first grade, my mother took me there and unlike all the other mothers there, it was normal for the mothers to stay through the morning on the first day. My mother said to me that she had to go shopping and left, the only mother who chose to do that.

When I went home for lunch she was there washing clothes that meant she lied to me. You see when my mother washed clothes it was an all day thing using a wringer type washing machine, no automatic machines in those days.

When I was around 8 or 9 years old I received a pair of ice skates for Christmas from Santa for Christmas. My parents knew I hated winter sports especially ice skating and that I would never use them. The part that bothered me the most though was the fact that these skates were old used and my fathers that he didn't use anymore. They couldn't even once a year get me something new. From then on I never looked under the tree to see what I receive for Christmas and my mother stopped putting anything under the tree for me.

I was never asked why I didn't complain about getting nothing for Christmas. I would have run away from home many times but at that time they only brought you back and my father would have killed me for sure having run away from home.

When I finished high school I joined the USAF and that finally got me out of my so called home. I had little or nothing to do width my family after that. I hated my brothers because they used me knowing they could do anything they wanted to me and get away with it and they did.

I would see my family only at weddings or funerals for the next 40 years and didn't miss them at all. We had no family love that never existed ever. I felt like one in a litter not part of a family.

Twenty some odd years after I left home my father died and I went to see my mother and felt very uncomfortable seeing her. The mother son relationship that should have been there never was. I can't find words to describe just how I felt because I have never heard of or known any mother son relationship that was like ours.

In all my seventy six years on the planet I honestly can say I have never heard of a mother that treated a son like she treated me. She would send me birthday cards signed mother not love mother, like it was painful to say love mother.

I guess she knew she in fact didn't love me. Nice huh... What did I ever do that earned this kind of treatment. I was a little slave boy who was told in front of strangers by his father to be seen and not heard. I learned growing up to stay away until I had to be home and to keep my mouth shut.

After seeing my mother a few times after my father died, I decided to tell her that I would be leaving and never coming back because I felt very strange. I told her the mother son relationship that should be here never was and I can't continue to lie to myself that you are my mother, your not. Yes you had me, you brought me into this world but you were never a mother to me ever, not for one day, not for minute, not for one second.

I left her, she never said a word, never made a move, never showed any emotion whatsoever. She said nothing or did nothing to defend herself and I left. I have to say when I walked out the door I never felt so relieved in my life having said good by to my mother. A monumental burden was lifted from my mind living with this guilt all my life.

I am now free of the unbelievable pain I have lived with all my life not having a mother to love me and take care of me as a little boy when I need her most. Many times she did the opposite she inflicted hurt and pain by her actions. I went to see my birth mother some twenty two years later when she was in a nursing home a year before she died.

She didn't know who I was when my daughter who was with me at the time said to her this is your oldest son. She said that I was not her son. She was correct because you see I had no mother. I am now 76 years old now and have lived with my childhood memories and can deal with the pain if often times brings me, but its hard when friends and relatives tell you when they notice your hurting, its near impossible to hide. You should be over that by now, even a brother at another brothers funeral this last summer said to me that's in the past forget it, I told him that for me it can never be in the past.

When growing up I was much older than my years, you see the environment I lived in required me to think about survival from the beatings and the feeling of I am by my self in this world. My parents never in my life gave me one red cent, not ever. I had to fix broken windows, doors,cut lawns paint shutters at the tender age of 7, 8, 9.

I use to ride by bike I put together from peoples trash to construction sites selling candy bars to construction guys to make money. I created my own paper route and later sold it to a family that it helped put two sons through college. You see the severity of the treatment caused me to develop my skills at a very early age. That's one good result of my childhood. My two sons and a daughter hear from me nearly every day and the word love is there in word and actions all the time.

My abuse was established over a very long time and was very severe as a result its not possible to put it behind me, its also impossible to hide it from others to notice. I can and have tried to use it to motivate me to never put up with its negative influence on me and my current environment.

I grew up in a neighborhood where houses were 20 feet apart and consist of 2 and 3 family homes. My neighborhood was comprised of people of all nationalities and cultures.

Everyone knew just what I was going through because the kids my age saw at times what my father did to me and how long it took me to recover from the beatings. They were afraid of my father and when he came they went. They told their parents all about my situation.

I had a few families in my neighborhood that said I could live with them, I guess they liked me and felt sorry for me. I could see what family life was supposed to be like in their lives and wished I could have been born into anyone of them but that was impossible and I knew it.

I had to be in our house every day at 6pm 365 days a year. I didn't play with my 4 other brothers because they could get me beaten up to easily. All they had to do is say that I hit them, there was nothing I could say in my defense to avoid a beating.

My brothers were the enemy and could get me hurt, so I stayed away from them. After I left home to join the military I have had little or nothing to do with my brothers to this day because of the relationship my father created between us. That was in 1952 and its now 2010, 58 years later and I don't see them nor do I need to see them. I do see them at weddings or funerals I do go to, if they should be there.

You see, I view them as litter mates because that's the way my parents brought us up. When I do see them there is some talk about getting together but nothing ever happens. You see the love and caring that should have been there isn't and so we are strangers and that's the way it will be.

I cant make them do something they don't know how to do or want to do. On the other hand I know whats missing and its not missing in my life, its a big deal to me. I can and will go on happily. Love you all. John G.