Tales of my childhood
My childhood didn’t exist at home & I went to school to escape my family life. Family life varied from isolationistic to brutal. At 5 years of age I remember lying in the gutter in the pouring rain, with the water cascading over me because there was no where else to go & I was so unhappy. All my childhood years I either wanted to die or run away, but death didn’t seem the solution, and there was no where to run to. I had to tough it out and am one of the few who survived childhood abuse. Many suicide, many do drugs to numb the pain, many just die inside to become shells of themselves – lights on but no-ones home.
You see my father was a pedophile, not just your normal run of the mill one but one who not only took pleasure in sexually gratifying himself with his own children, but also in the power that came with that. As a child he used to make my skin crawl, I could not remain in the same room as him & he knew it so he would find pleasure in following me from room to room. My brother and I were forced to polish his shoes and likewise the sweat in his shoes repulsed me. To not follows his orders resulted in bashings or whippings. Often we were treated like slaves at his bidding whenever he chose to turn up, carry the lounge, newspaper, beer etc out into the backyard so he could relax in the sun. One day I’d had enough & told him to fuck off. He was only feet away & picked up a full brick & threw it at directly my face. I ducked just in time, then ran for my life & crawled under the house. I hid right up the back where he couldn’t get me so he tried to hose me out. I stayed under there shaking & crying for hours.
The second occasion I told him to F off he picked up a large six seater oak table and threw the whole thing at me while I crouched fearfully in the corner of the dining room. Luckily it smashed through each wall, the walls protecting me, but unluckily this time I was trapped, in his rage he grabbed me & I was beaten to a pulp. He was a huge man & I like my brother tiny & slight.
He used to stay with us whenever he needed lodging as he could never stay in one place for too long. Not that the house had any luxury, but it was warm & dry. Often we had no electricity, no phone & for us kids & mum clothes & food often came from the smith family in boxes or garbage bags. Dad however never went without. He was always dressed immaculately, socialised as he pleased & to others was the perfect gentleman, good looking & also a known womaniser. I have at least one half brother I have heard of but never met, dad had an affair with mums mum for 2 years & everyone was there for his sexual gratification.
I remember one period where he worked as a batman. We would sit on the front verandah waiting of an evening to come home, trembling and shaking. He would turn up drunk, insist dinner was on the table – though at times he wanted to cook once forcing us to eat half cooked unscaled fish with the threat of a back hard or cord whipping if we so much as objected. I had my face rubbed in a steaming hot dinner on more than one occasion & then forced to eat it for not following his rules.
Often he & mum would fight and she would end up bloodied & bruised. The neighbors would have heard her screams up and down the street, and like me many times was in fear of her life, but back then nobody wanted to get involved. I remember one night in the middle of winter mum was covered in blood & sobbing, begging me to get the police. We had no phone & so I went from neighbor to neighbor, crying as a young boy, pleading with them to call the police. No one wanted to get involved, but eventually one let me use their phone. I ran back and hid under the side of the house. It was bitterly cold. The police arrived & left. Only later did I find out that dad answered the door told them she was a slut & they left. I was petrified of going inside fearful he was waiting for me, and hid curled up in the dirt under the house, shaking uncontrollably from the cold. As I started feeling violently ill I went inside only to find in his drunken stupor he had gone to bed.
The worst however was the sexual abuse. I could tell when it was going to happen, Dad would fabricate an argument with mum then come to sleep in my bed. To be raped as a young boy by an adult man was excruciating painful. For it to be done by the man who was meant to protect you was soul destroying. Often the only way you could survive was to block it out, to try & pretend it didn’t happen, though you always knew it did – it was like a ball & chain. On one occasion the only way to protect myself was to totally disassociate from my body, my eyes became tunnels at which the child in me fled to the end of.
To be continued …
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