Hello everyone,
I must be the only one in my time zone on this board. I'm always coming in late.
wltay--"raging, stressed-out monster", your grandfather. Well the words suit my father, and from changing's post, her father; the 3 fit the same generation.
My days on the farm were til 1956 when I left They sold the farm in 1963 and retired to a city. That was the era of the smaller farms being bought up by a huge syndicate and the farmers were paid handsomely to sell. The idea came to mind, that if all these farms were gone, the abuse would die down, but it hasn't. Just look at this Board, yet I think I'm seeing more emotional abuse than physical. From personal experience, the physical abuse did less harm than the emotional part and the neglect.
lighter--I never knew of my dad striking my mom, but I expect she feared him, but not protecting us was emotionasl abuse.
Thank you finding peace
reallyMe-- your husband also appears to fit into this 'small farm mentality' I think of.
(((((Leah)))))))) seems I missed some of you?
I can still 'see' myself standing there saying nothing when certain abusive things happened. I took it all in and never released it. I thought this was a way of life until I was a teen in high school. I saw the abuse of animals, and siblings, and I think it was meant for all to see. Dad would call us forth to watch him drown a set of newborn kittens. "We had enough cats". Our cats were not pets. They were barn cats that kept down the mouse and rat population. When a bunch of them caught a disease, dad called us forth again to watch him set the cat's upon a summer kitchen railing and pop them off one by one with his gun.
We were taught how to behead a chicken, for chicken, and how to help him when he killed a calf for veal: with one blow to the skull it was dead, and with the pig, for pork, we had to corner it in a horse stall so dad could slit its throat.That was our food and I remember doing this this but not any feelings attached to it.
(Mom would sit and do the cleaning out of the animals and the plucking of chickens, but I remember having the job of getting all the black pin feathers. I recall watching her and figured I knew that long stringy thing was the pigs bowel....and it broke Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!)
This was dad's way of life and he had no thought whatsoever what damage this voilence would do to children. I speak only for myself, not my siblings.
I do know that I am SO against violence that when I think of protecting myself from someone on the street or whatever, I cannot imagine striking him over the head with my footrest.....................it might hurt him.
..........and the abuse goes on, behind closed doors and we know not where.
Love Izzy
