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The world as we know it

A special event was always time for special violence

I don’t know how Mum did it. We were poverty stricken & yet at birthdays & Christmas she made an effort to make them as special as she could. Places were often set extra nicely at the table, at Christmas each of us kids would have a few novelties on our plates. A little toy, some small puzzle books, a few things to delight us. Often it would be a baked dinner or the like. Lamb with gravy, peas, baked potato. These meals wern’t fancy but they were good. Yet special occasions we steeled ourselves, cause these were the times Dad enjoyed ruining the most.

Anything could set him off. My older brother didn’t like peas one time so Dad picked up the whole plate of food and threw it smashing it against the wall, gravy peas & meat sliding down the paint whilst shards of broken plate scattered across the floor. As mum scurried to collect the glass so we didn’t cut our feet, Dad stormed off speaking profanities over his shoulder. Often he would get dressed up nicely and go for a drink, leaving the rest of us crying at christmas or birthdays to clean up his mess. That was a normal Christmas celebration, birthdays much the same. The ones we enjoyed the most were the ones he wasn’t there. I cant ever remember Dad buying me (or the other kids) a single present in all the years while they were married. Dad earnt money but it was always spent on him. Mum somehow had to cloth and feed us from what she could get from the Smith Family & Vinnies. Dad showed us boys no affection, never a touch, except abuse and Mum was ordered to do the same again under threat. Affection he claimed would make us poofters.

Other times when a meal was placed in front of him Dad would say ‘what shit is this’ swiping the loaded plate in front of him off the table & across the room as it smashed on the floor again with food everywhere. Then storming off he would go out. That was preferable to the times he stayed & yelled, reducing the whole family to tears & nervous wrecks.

If I misbehaved at all normally Dad would pick me up by one arm so my feet were dangling in the air, then get the ironing cord or his belt & & whip it backwards and forwards again & again & again across my bare legs till I was screaming in pain. Then he would drop me on the floor & order to my room as screaming I scuttled to my feet trying to avoid any further blows whilst dancing in pain hopping from one leg to another as they seared from the whipping, collapsing in my room sobbing, trying to muffle my sounds with a pillow so I didn’t get in further trouble.

Even in the small things Dad took joy in his control. I never had friends over to stay because I was petrified of them finding out what my home life was like. Most of them came from loving families & I used to enjoy visiting them & spending time with their families. On one occasion a friend asked me to stay the night at his place. I rarely talked to Dad & typically avoided him like the plague. Because I really wanted to go I plucked up the courage to ask Dad if I could stay the night at my friends, and he surprisingly said yes. I was elated. So I told my friend, he told his parents and it was settled. When they came to pick me up Dad said to me ‘you’re not going’. That was that, no reason, no argument, nothing. If I objected there would be hell to pay. I was totally embarrassed telling my friend I couldn’t now go & felt like a real idiot. I wasn’t asked over again. Nothing you had was safe from Dad ruining it.

Filed under: Governance

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The New Rich

We fight not to enslave, but to set a country free, and to make room upon the earth for honest men to live in. Thomas Paine

Above all, we must realize that no arsenal or no weapon in the arsenals of the world is so formidable as the will and moral courage of free men and women. RONALD REAGAN,
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If the freedom of speech is taken away then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter. George Washington

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