Hi My Dearest Izzy-
Your post gives me some insight into my father's treatment of me when I was little. He grew up on a farm and the boys especially had a lot of hard work (the girls were more petted and kept from any dangerous or brutal work - the brothers doted on their little sisters just as the parents did, and the girls would never be allowed around dangerous livestock and such- they also sent money home for nice things for their sisters, and the girls became extremely educated as well)
MY father did not spare the work or the punishment, from the time that I was 3 or 4(when my mother left) If he thought that I didn't do a chore right I was hauled right out of bed and soundly and painfully beaten. I didn't mind the chores, and liked to help actually, but I never knew if I did things correctly, especially when I was extremely young, and always afraid that I would be hurt even if I did what I thought was the right thing. I think this contributed to my pathology with my husband the Bagworm. One big difference between them- my father worked 2 jobs and would fall asleep at the table. He eventually grew wealthy.Bagworm is lazy,and has made great money and squandered it.
I learned to read quite early, and there would be a list of my chores on the table in our empty house after I got home from school. Sweeping, dishes, dinner, cleaning, taking care of the pets, washing clothes. I even shined my father's shoes. I was to do all the things listed . When I would hear the clumping of my father's boots coming up the steps at night, I would become wary , and hope that he would go to bed and not get me up because of a failure of some sort in my completion of the chores.
I never asked for things or got much either (food to cook, a house , bed and utilities, one dress and pair of shoes, maybe a coat,each year until I got a job myself at 14), and was expected to get straight A's, with no help or encouragement, any less was anathema- no one came to parent's night or checked my homework. We had no TV so I loved to do homework, and read the encyclopedia and Great Books collections that we had. I always did music, singing and playing instruments so I had to practice. My brother was a bona fide genius person, so that brought many interesting things into my life as well (telescopes , microscopes etc- my father always provided more for my brother- I think that he was jealous of the things that were handed to his sisters versus the hard time he had making it in life, and evened the score in our home by giving to my brother and having me shift for myself, and he drove my brother places and gave him things that cost good money) and of course, I had the two people who raised me, our doggies. I loved coming home and being with them- they read with me, sat as I did my homework, and slept with me at night- I never felt lonely with them, and was well protected and loved,even though there was never a parent for more than 5 or 6 hours a day usually for years at my home (my father slept during that time0, and often my brother was gone as well.
Perhaps my father felt that I had to learn early how to survive and to contribute. He did apologize once to me, and it was heartfelt and not at all N like, and said that very few had the responsibilities that I did, and did them so well alone with so few resources. My brother left at 16 for the Ivy League and I left young as well (we both skipped grades), though my father and his fiance (soon to be the stepmonster) would not sign for my scholarship and I was underage and socialized to please and obey, (even though I always had a strong streak of independent thinking). I had been in foster care and I think my early years made it easier to survive what happened there- though I was separated from my doggies and never really recovered fully from that.
I always had friends and fun things to do and church so I always had things to look forward to. But as far as family- we became mere satellites, destined to become scattered and alone in the freezing universe, and had to learn to make our own light or perish.
Love,
Changing