Prince of Deception

My evil step-father Dick was a liar. Everything about him was a lie. He didn’t complete grade school, but he would use large words which he thought he understood. Often enough to make him sound ignorant, he would use them inappropriately. He didn’t want to be corrected: I tried.

We were told repeatedly that “we don’t air our dirty laundry in public.” We were taught to keep family secrets; at the same time, we were being told that God considers lying a sin. It is extremely common for abusive families to lie to hide the abuse.

Dick told me repeatedly that I was ugly, unlovable, stupid, of no value, etcetera, etcetera. These were all lies! Unfortunately, I entered adulthood believing all his lies.

Both of my parents and the church told me that a good girl would be a virgin on her wedding day. Dick took my virginity and when I realized it, I knew it meant I was no longer a “good girl” but I was confused because everyone talked like I had a choice in whether or not I was a virgin. I also had to continue lying to my mother because she didn’t know, and I felt a fierce need to protect her. I was profoundly confused.

As I got older, the sexual abuse stopped. When I began working, Dick knew when I got paid and would be waiting for me to arrive home. He would tell me he needed a favor; then ask to borrow my entire paycheck to pay a household utility. I lent him money every time he asked (I would have done anything for my mother and siblings); and he never paid me back. Once I realized what he was doing, I began going and spending my paycheck for what I wanted before I took it home. It didn’t occur to me until I was an adult looking back, but how did he pay the utilities before I started earning a paycheck?

As a teen, I purchased a vehicle using a bank loan. Either, I couldn’t have a title in my name or I couldn’t get a bank loan in my name due to my age. I did go pay on the bank loan every time I got paid until it was paid off. I was so excited. Until I saw my car on the corner with a For Sale sign in the window. (I had been grounded for breaking curfew and was riding the bus.) I asked Dick about it when I got home, and he told me he was selling. When the car was no longer there a little while later, I asked Dick if he’d moved it. He’d sold it. I asked him where my money was from the sale. His reply was “What money?” Lying, stealing, manipulative, abusive, evil man sold the car I paid for and kept the money. (Just when I think I’ve forgiven him, I feel angry all over again!)

I’m still confused by the level of lying in my childhood home. As a child, I lied all the time. I lied about my home. I lied about my step-father. I lied about my siblings. I lied to my step-father. I lied to my mother. If my lips were moving…I was most likely lying.

At some point, I stopped lying. I think it happened when I started to realize that Dick was evil. I think this was when I stopped overtly lying and began learning to deny the reality of the bad things that had happened in my life.

I became more and more verbally honest as time went by and even flipped too far the other direction; using the guise of honesty to say very hurtful things to people I claimed to love.

My mother (who has a pure, loving heart) doesn’t always embrace the truth. She often shades reality by suggesting it’s better than it is. I don’t know if she was in denial or if she was afraid that by facing the problems honestly, she would make them worse. This added to my confusion about lying and honesty.

Today, I hate lying, I pride myself on honesty; however, I’ve learned to be more loving in my approach. Every day, I’m conscious of the fact that I lived most of my adult life in denial of my reality and I need to be wary of doing it now.

I can’t stand a liar. I just figured out why today. What can I say? Sometimes I’m slow on the uptake.

My Experience with ADHD

I was gifted this amazing little boy from God.  His name is Fergus.  He has these amazing eyes, the color of almonds.  The sparkle with mischief and gleam with intelligence.  He is full of compassion for others and he’s curious about everything.  He doesn’t stop moving but he’s capable of slipping into super, super slow-motion when someone is waiting. 

For his first 4 1/2 years, it was just he and I.  Experiencing the world through his eyes with fresh curiosity and amazement was like a rebirth of sorts.  I didn’t have a radio in my car, so anytime we drove anywhere (which was often); we talked.  We talked like two adults.  Fergus had a very large vocabulary and an inquisitive mind when he started school. 

We didn’t have a lot of behavior problems prior to school.  He went through a biting phase and gave himself a concussion when he fell off the coat hook he was hanging on. 

His “behavior” problems started when he started school and my take on it is the schools had and have an expectation problem.  It is unreasonable to expect children as young as three years old to sit still, pay attention and behave perfectly for hours on end.  My opinion is that it’s unnatural.  Preschool was a nightmare. 

His Kindergarten teach was an amazing, loving and creative woman.  She called me to tell me he’d had a good day and I burst into tears of relief and joy.  She gave him a carpet square to use as an island and the classroom carpet was an ocean he couldn’t go into without drowning or being eaten by sharks.  It kept him from moving around her classroom and putting his hands on the other children. 

Fergus has always been a loyal person.  If you were his friend, he took that seriously and defended you if he deemed it necessary.  Which is how I got a phone call telling me he’d pushed another child off the top of the school’s playground slide.  That child had pushed his friend, so Fergus pushed him.  Off the slide.  Onto the ground, breaking the child’s backpack strap (when he tried and failed to catch him) but not injuring the child (thank God!).  I offered to pay for the backpack.

I took Fergus in to a mental health professional to be evaluated and he was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), which I’d never heard of previously.  I tend to question things and I seek out knowledge and proof.  I went to my local library and read everything they had on ADHD and ADD. 

As I read, I realized my son was being described and I was devastated that my perfect child wasn’t perfect.  Moreover, to my surprise, I realized that I fit the description even more readily than my child!  At the time, they believed there was a genetic component but it hadn’t been proved yet.  I’m convinced it’s genetic. 

Throughout the years, Fergus’ teachers would go on and on about how polite and likable he was.  Then, they started with the buts.  He can’t hold still.  He’s always touching others.  He doesn’t pay attention in class.  He doesn’t turn in his assignments.  He distracts the other students. 

Over the years, I’ve become convinced that ADHD and ADD run rampant in my family.  My mother and father both have associated behaviors.  Most of my siblings have characteristics of it.  Both of my sons have it.  Fergus has ADHD and Samson has Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), which is basically the thought problems without the hyperactive movements. 

I’ve never been diagnosed and I learned some great coping skills as a child.  Fergus had to be medicated before he was able to realize any kind of scholastic (behaviorally) success. 

All of the books I’d read told me not to expect a miracle pill, so I didn’t.  Imagine my surprise and sorrow when we switched medications and found a combination with dramatic results.  One after another, at the next parent-teacher conference; Fergus’ teachers remarked on what a difference there was in his behaviors.  It was PFM (Pure Fucking Magic).

At this point, I don’t think having ADHD is going to negatively affect my life. 

I Filed for Divorce

I joined the active duty Air Force. The sent me to Texas for basic training and then to California to my first duty station. The Rock called me while I was in basic training and told me all I had to do was tell my first sergeant I’d made a mistake, they’d release me, and we could continue our life together. I declined.

I was living in the barracks and enjoying the single life. I met a really nice guy on the dance floor at the Enlisted Members’ Club. We had a one-night stand and I got pregnant.

My parents told me The Rock showed up at their home in Arizona unannounced. He was traveling with a friend. He basically was trying to get them to climb on board his train of marital bliss for the two of us. They just needed to talk some sense into me. My dad Tom was home alone. He’s a retired highway patrolman. He offered The Rock coffee, then made sure he saw the handgun tucked in the back of his jeans as he reached to the top shelf for cream and sugar. The Rock and his friend left a short time later.

A day later, The Rock showed up at the base I was stationed at, without warning. I was about six months pregnant. He told me he wanted to reunite, and he would raise the baby as his own. We would be happily married for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t believe him. He had abused me throughout our marriage and now he wouldn’t? He would love another man’s baby and not abuse it? Right. I just couldn’t believe him. I told him I wasn’t going back to him and the only reason I hadn’t filed for divorce was because I didn’t have the money yet, because I was paying back my half of our debt. He continued to his new assignment in Alaska.

Three months later, I have the baby. A few days after I returned home, The Rock called me screaming at me because he wants me to take his name off the birth certificate. I tell him his name isn’t on it. It’s not and never was. I never considered putting him on it.

I file for divorce and it’s granted.

Evidence in a Toy Box

I was active duty Air Force and worked in the Education Office. One of my duties was to collect tuition assistance from students who didn’t successfully pass their classes. This required my interaction with other support staff across the base. One of the airmen I interacted with was Jedidiah Day Jones. I loved having to call him up. He had the sexiest voice. We flirted a bit.

One day, I was at my desk working when I heard a voice. Oh my. I knew that voice. It was Jedidiah. He was not nearly as sexy looking as he was sounding. We talked for a while and he asked me out. I accepted. We dated a bit and got along well. He seemed to like my son. I was still heartbroken over my last failed marriage. I didn’t want a really good-looking man who would cheat on me. I was okay with liking someone and having it grow into love.

I was honest with him. I told him I wanted to have another child when I was 25 years old because I didn’t want my son Fergus to be an only child. He asked me to marry him and I said yes. He told me he wanted to be a father and for us to be a family. We went to Las Vegas and got married at the Little White Chapel. He told me to stop taking my birth control pills. I asked him if he was sure because as soon as I stopped them, I would become pregnant. I was that fertile. He said yes. Three times.

(That’s right people, we had the same conversation about having another child … count them … three times. Every time, he said he was ready for us to get pregnant and have a child together.)

We got married, got a ticket for a burnt-out headlight on the way home, he moved in with me and we were pregnant three days later. I told him I was pregnant, and he said, “I’m not ready to be a dad.” What the????

The next several months were an emotional roller coaster in a Hell-inspired theme park. He started sleeping on the couch. He drank every leftover dime up. His car was broken down and he expected me to pay to fix it. He stole my son’s birthday money. He got drunk at a house party we threw and tried to drive away in my car, I threw my keys into the neighbors darkened yard. He got angry and left. He moved out. He moved in. He moved out. He cheated on me with a coworker of his who was short and quite plump. I was angry he cheated on me with someone less attractive than I. He moved in. He got angry and wanted to move out again and his best friend who was also a long-time acquaintance of mine told him he was being ridiculous, and he would only move him one more time. He moved out. He tried to take things that were mine before he came into my life. He took back gifts he’d given me. He threatened to take my unborn child.

I panicked. I lied. I told him the baby wasn’t his.

Later I told him the truth, but it was too late. He grabbed hold of that lie and ran with it. He said he wanted a DNA test. I agreed to allow it but refused to pay for it. I told him it was physically impossible for anyone else to have fathered my child.

He told me he was going to ask for full custody and that he was only going to agree to pay $65 a month in child support. He wrote a letter and left it in my son’s toybox stating he was being tempted by Satan to kick or hit me in the stomach, so I’d lose our baby. I still have that letter 28 years later. I used it to ask for supervised visitation after our child was born because it proved he was considering harming our child.

The 3/5-3/8 2019 School Week in Review

This week being a learning coach was mostly a blessing.  Last week, it felt like a curse.   

My 10 year old nephew Nathan is an everyday liar.  I’ve learned through conversations with other adult family members that this has been a problem for years and Nathan continues even when caught blatantly lying.  I hate being lied to.  If you lie to me and I know it, I’m going to call you out. 

This week, I remembered how much I lied at his age.  I was distrustful of everyone and lied to protect myself.  I’m like a reformed smoker who wants to force the rest of the world to stop.  I’m a recovering Control Freak!     

Nathan is lazy.  He’ll ask me for scratch paper that is the same distance from me, as from him, expecting me to retrieve it with a sly grin on his face. I haven’t told Nathan he’s lazy: he told me “I’m lazy” while smirking.  He consistently chooses what requires the least of him.  He’s in a remedial reading course (in addition to his regular Language Arts) because I was concerned he may have missed some essentials previously.  Yesterday, I observed him skipping through being read the stories and guessing at the answers until he hit upon the right one.  He lied about it even though I was standing behind him as he did it and saw with my own eyes.  It seems his reading skills problem is from his choice to do as little as possible.   

This week, we talked about how the bible says a person who’s not willing to work, shouldn’t eat.  We identified what Nathan’s work is school right now.  I’ve begun seeking opportunities to praise extra effort, regardless of the end result.  I’m a recovering Perfectionist, so I tend to be very harsh in my expectations and interactions.   

Nathan is disrespectful of his elders.  He argues with me every day.  He uses sarcasm and insinuates a lack of intelligence.  If I say get out your English book;   he responds with a sneer in his voice, “Do you mean Language Arts?”  If I tell him it’s time to take the test; he says “It’s a Quick Check.”  When an adult says no, he demands to know why.  He pulled the stitching out of one of my best chairs.  He uses other people’s belongings without asking.  He has strewn the contents of his school art kit about because he doesn’t put his belongings away unless I stand over him like a drill sergeant.     

This week, I realized that the adults in my family may be talking about and treating each other in ways that are disrespectful in front of him.  I have criticized the lesson content, the communication with people at the school, and the frequent class changes and cancellations in front of him.  Our attitude is often that if someone disagrees with us, they lack intelligence.  One of the things I said repeatedly in my former life was, “Stupid people annoy me!”  I’ve started trying to change this behavior in myself.   

Nathan rarely takes personal accountability for his actions.  He told me “Everyone lies.” when I confronted him about a lie he had just told me.  He has blamed shoddy schoolwork on myself and his grandmother.  He blames low assessment grades on poorly written questions and not being taught the material.  This week, we discussed the fact that we’re both Christians and will have to give an accounting to God someday and that God won’t want to hear what anyone else did when we’re discussing what we did.   

This week I put up new verses and we talked about what they mean and how they apply to us.  Luke 17:2 is my verse for the week, “It would be better for them (me) to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones (Nathan) to stumble.”  As an adult Christian in my nephews life, I’m a representative of God.  He learns who God is by observing who I am.  If I don’t behave in a way which is deserving of respect; how is he supposed to respect God?  If I use scripture (God’s word) to beat this child and fill him with shame; then he’ll believe God sees him as worthless and unredeemable.  

Nathan came prepared to listen and do this week.  He didn’t lie to me until Friday.  He didn’t attempt to skip lesson material without permission until Friday.  He suffered some natural consequences (instead of me trying to force a different behavior)  for not following directions and had to use “free time” to complete some assignments he didn’t finish during assigned school time because he was stalling or refused to follow directions.  I had many opportunities to praise him. 

Red Flags to Avoid

As pervasive as abuse is, it’s important that we’re aware of red flags while we’re selecting our life partners. Better to completely avoid becoming entangled with an abuser. Survivors can easily connect with an abuser because we’re comfortable with the relationship dynamics with them. It’s what we know.

According to “Mending the Soul: Understanding and Healing Abuse” by Steven R. Tracy, the general characteristics of abusers include denial of responsibility, deceitfulness, harshly judgmental of others and calculated intimidation. I agree with this conclusion as it’s what I experienced at the hands of my abuser.

My evil step-father Dick was extremely judgmental. He seemed to hate everyone. He was misogynistic. He had nothing nice to say about women ever. He was also racist. Basically, it seems he hated everyone but himself and other pasty-faced white men. Yes, I still have a lot of animosity toward him. In retrospect, I think he was comparing himself to others and finding reasons so he could believe he was superior to them. At some level, he may have known his behaviors were wrong; however, he never had to look at his own shortcomings because he was busy badmouthing others for what he perceived as their problems.

We moved to a town which had a sign on its border which said (I apologize profusely) “No niggers, spicks, or chinks allowed.” He would say the “n*****” were trying to take over the world by interbreeding with white women. I was astounded by his ignorance. He would see a girl walking down the street and proclaim she was a whore and he could tell by the way she walked and dressed. He would tell me all women were alike if you turned them upside down.

My evil step-father Dick also used intimidation to keep myself and my siblings in line. I don’t remember Dick making any direct threats: I just felt this constant, overwhelming sense of dread. I knew I was going to be subjected to more abuse because my best was never good enough. I’m in a constant state of alert because I’m always expecting more suffering to come my way.

When it was time for a spanking, Dick would send me to get his belt. If I was crying, he would spank me until I stopped. If I was not crying when the beating began, he would spank me until I cried.

I wasn’t allowed normal emotions. I was allowed anger.

I split my knee open playing tag in the dark and was crying when I came inside the house. Dick was there and told me to stop crying or he’d let me bleed to death. I stopped. He put rubbing alcohol on my open wound; and I passed out from the pain.

He was always threatening to “wipe that look off your face” or “give you something to cry about.”

Abusers are master manipulators and use all kinds of strategies to trap their victims for as long as possible. I believed I had little to no power as a child. At 11 years old, I began planning my escape by trying to save up enough money to leave my childhood home. I believed that was the only solution.

People were always complimenting my parents for how well-behaved their children were in public. We were terrified of being beaten by Dick when we got home.

No one knew the truth. I didn’t know how to ask for help. When I finally tried, I was dismissed by a health care “professional” as a dramatic teen. My maternal grandmother sensed something was wrong but didn’t know how to ferret out the truth. What my childhood family showed the world was a lie.

It Became a Butterfly

This is the story of my second tattoo.  I’d gotten my first tattoo at 18 years old and had been trying to decide what I wanted next for decades. 

I couldn’t decide.  I certainly didn’t want to put something permanent on my body until I’d found the perfect addition. 

In the meantime, it had come to my attention that my first tattoo no longer looked like a black rosebud, but now resembled a blue fish.  Not okay!  It seems that in order to maintain the original colors, tattoos need to be touched up from time to time.  Who knew? 

I needed to have it repaired; however, I didn’t want just anyone to do it. 

I was leaving the state of Idaho in just a few days when a group of friends threw a going away party for me.  It was so much fun!  The boyfriend of a friend’s daughter attended and drew “tattoos” on everyone who wanted them with Sharpies.  I’d found my tattoo artist!  He was able to fit me in and stated he could do what I was asking. 

I had him tattoo over the old tattoo with two beautiful blue butterflies with black-edged wings.  One is a large butterfly and the other is a smaller one. 

The colors are vibrant and the butterflies signify new life and personal growth to me. 

“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.” Anonymous