I used to hate Mr. Rogers. He seemed too good to me and he was roundly mocked by anyone over the age of 8. I felt he was in his own world and he didn't know what "real" pain was or encounter any one that was "bad". Who was he to spout such fantasy to young children about a happy world and a happy fantasy world. I hated him fervently. Once when my Mother told me she liked him I seethed my vitriolic statements of his idiocy. I was so angry at her for being so stupid and blind.
I realize now that it wasn't literally Mr. Rogers who I hated. It was the loss of my own innocence at such an early age. People who seemed to promote the view that children were tender, loving, sweet, kind and delicate received my abhorrence. The fact that children can be as cruel as a serial killer was not new to me. I didn't understand that this was something that many people either didn't know or suppressed as adults. I felt that this fact: children were not angels, needed to be know for people to understand human behavior.
Indeed this fact does need to be known. When people treat children like little cute objects that know nothing and whose actions effect no one and nothing they are dismissing that children are human and just as flawed as everyone in this world. Children are influenced by their peers, family relationships, environments and society just as much as anyone else. Although they are not as sophisticated as their adult counterparts they are not unaware of nuances in action, words or social cues. If they were, bullying would not be the problem that it always has been in schools and other institutions. Just because people act surprised when a severe case happens (the bullying of a gay classmate to their death,) in no way means that it is a singular occurrence. Bullying goes on and is promoted as well in many circumstances.
What happened to me at the age of three continued for years. My life was hell. I was promised by adults that my miserable childhood would be gone once I became an adult. If I worked hard and told the truth and watched myself I would be rewarded with a wonderful adulthood without the terror and hell. I was lost before I could even start building myself up for this fantasy adulthood. I figured I'd wait. I worked hard in school for my parents. It's what they wanted. But I could never outshine my sister. She was the most. Most intelligent, most popular, most bubbly, most admired and on and on. Eventually I began to hate her. I could never outshine my sister. I would always be a severe disappointment to my parents.
I had been depressed most of y childhood, for as long as I could remember. I over slept, I stayed at home as much as possible, I felt suicidal, I wanted to escape the hell that was my life, I was disgusted with my ugly body, I never defended myself against constant my constant tormentors. When I asked for relief I was dismissed as complaining for no reason. When I tried to make things different people got angry at me.
I tried to avoid school. I was bullied continually throughout elementary, junior high and senior high. I lived in a small town where the children I went to school with knew my history and that I was easily cowed by insults and cruel behavior. Callous jokes were made at my expense. I was given a disgusting nick name because I had stopped taking showers and baths whenever possible. I hated myself and most people seemed to agree with me. I was worthless and useless and disgusting.
When I had friends usually they were the kids that were picked on too. My friends were not the bright kids. I had been put in special education classes at a young age because I was so withdrawn that I either wouldn't or didn't learn to read. I know that at that time I was so depressed I didn't care. The baby sitter's house was a horrible place where the baby sitter was abusive and cruel herself. Her children for the most part were no different plus they were white trash so they had no education and didn't encourage higher or mature thinking. At the baby sitter's house they watched Soap Operas most of the day and took in other people's kids whenever they could. At my parents' house we had a library with a children's encyclopedia and there was only us.
My parents. It is hard to write about them. They were both college educated, that is where they met in University. They had interests. My Father though was an undiagnosed BP with alcoholism severe enough that it damaged his brain. It shrunk it we found out years later from an X-ray when he'd had an aneurism. My Mother was and enabler, never questioning my Father's hoarding habits and his practice of getting his parents to buy large items for him even while married. A car, a kayak, a sail boat, men toys that would catch his fancy. He'd use the but not maintain them. Our yard became cluttered with them. He threw nothing away. He collected beach towels from the beach. He would pick up garbage fro the side of the road. He was a hoarder and our house and yard gradually accumulated the items he NEEDED so much he couldn't throw them away no matter how broken down the item was. He was abusive. There I've said it. He would tell us to get out of the house. It was his castle and we had to do what he wished. We were not allowed to open the refrigerator to get food. It was all his. We were to shut up, be quiet, he didn't want to hear kids when he was not at school. Everything was about him. He hated taking e places and constantly complained when he "had to". I was a burden in his eyes.
My Mother wasn't cold but she wasn't a comforting presence. We did not hug in our family or say I love you. In fact those actions came with discomfort they were so seldom experienced. Her idea of good parenting was ignoring us when we acted out. My Father's idea of good parenting was to bully us and scare us into behaving. But neither of my parents had a clue about children's behavior. They had both been only children.
We did not see them most of the day. We went to school or the baby sitter's house. When we came home we were told to go out and play and were only allowed in when dinner was ready. Then we had homework to do. My Father, a junior high school science teacher had summers off. We could stay home after a certain age which meant playing outside all day. It wasn't bad, we lived near a beach and on an island and the neighborhood was safe back then. Even now it is safe because it is isolated. BUT we COULD NOT COME IN THE HOUSE. any times my Father would drink and or sleep and he wanted no noise to disturb him. Summers were only fun because we were not at the abusing baby sitter's house and it was warm enough outside to enjoy be outside. The only time we were allowed in was if it was raining. Otherwise we were outside Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter.
In an abusive household children learn how to deal with an unequal social structure. Power, control, fear and threats are used to manipulate everyone. The atmosphere is unbalanced and children learn to deal with other children in the world around them in the same way. No one is equal and you quickly learn that you must find a way to deal with the abuse so that you can deal with life. Sounds easy? It isn't. Sometimes the abuse ranges from emotional to sexual to physical to mental. The more abuse you suffer and the different types of abuse you experience sets you up for how you see, experience and react to the world.
My life was a raging hell. I was in flux between what I thought heaven and hell were. I was influenced into believing that my parent's were "good" because the baby sitter's house (where I experienced sexual, emotional, physical and mental abuse,) was so "bad". The reality was that both places were unhealthy. I assumed the sickness that I experienced at the baby sitter's house had infected me. I was now warped and didn't deserve anything good. Anytime I was denied love, affection, attention or a serious audience for my complaints I came to believe that I didn't deserve any of these. It is difficult to feel safe when no place or person is there to protect you. For some reason my older sister and youngest brother were able to protect themselves. They experienced (almost - very very important,) all the abuse that my oldest brother and I experienced. It came to be that each one of us turned out differently than the other.
I realize now that it wasn't literally Mr. Rogers who I hated. It was the loss of my own innocence at such an early age. People who seemed to promote the view that children were tender, loving, sweet, kind and delicate received my abhorrence. The fact that children can be as cruel as a serial killer was not new to me. I didn't understand that this was something that many people either didn't know or suppressed as adults. I felt that this fact: children were not angels, needed to be know for people to understand human behavior.
Indeed this fact does need to be known. When people treat children like little cute objects that know nothing and whose actions effect no one and nothing they are dismissing that children are human and just as flawed as everyone in this world. Children are influenced by their peers, family relationships, environments and society just as much as anyone else. Although they are not as sophisticated as their adult counterparts they are not unaware of nuances in action, words or social cues. If they were, bullying would not be the problem that it always has been in schools and other institutions. Just because people act surprised when a severe case happens (the bullying of a gay classmate to their death,) in no way means that it is a singular occurrence. Bullying goes on and is promoted as well in many circumstances.
What happened to me at the age of three continued for years. My life was hell. I was promised by adults that my miserable childhood would be gone once I became an adult. If I worked hard and told the truth and watched myself I would be rewarded with a wonderful adulthood without the terror and hell. I was lost before I could even start building myself up for this fantasy adulthood. I figured I'd wait. I worked hard in school for my parents. It's what they wanted. But I could never outshine my sister. She was the most. Most intelligent, most popular, most bubbly, most admired and on and on. Eventually I began to hate her. I could never outshine my sister. I would always be a severe disappointment to my parents.
I had been depressed most of y childhood, for as long as I could remember. I over slept, I stayed at home as much as possible, I felt suicidal, I wanted to escape the hell that was my life, I was disgusted with my ugly body, I never defended myself against constant my constant tormentors. When I asked for relief I was dismissed as complaining for no reason. When I tried to make things different people got angry at me.
I tried to avoid school. I was bullied continually throughout elementary, junior high and senior high. I lived in a small town where the children I went to school with knew my history and that I was easily cowed by insults and cruel behavior. Callous jokes were made at my expense. I was given a disgusting nick name because I had stopped taking showers and baths whenever possible. I hated myself and most people seemed to agree with me. I was worthless and useless and disgusting.
When I had friends usually they were the kids that were picked on too. My friends were not the bright kids. I had been put in special education classes at a young age because I was so withdrawn that I either wouldn't or didn't learn to read. I know that at that time I was so depressed I didn't care. The baby sitter's house was a horrible place where the baby sitter was abusive and cruel herself. Her children for the most part were no different plus they were white trash so they had no education and didn't encourage higher or mature thinking. At the baby sitter's house they watched Soap Operas most of the day and took in other people's kids whenever they could. At my parents' house we had a library with a children's encyclopedia and there was only us.
My parents. It is hard to write about them. They were both college educated, that is where they met in University. They had interests. My Father though was an undiagnosed BP with alcoholism severe enough that it damaged his brain. It shrunk it we found out years later from an X-ray when he'd had an aneurism. My Mother was and enabler, never questioning my Father's hoarding habits and his practice of getting his parents to buy large items for him even while married. A car, a kayak, a sail boat, men toys that would catch his fancy. He'd use the but not maintain them. Our yard became cluttered with them. He threw nothing away. He collected beach towels from the beach. He would pick up garbage fro the side of the road. He was a hoarder and our house and yard gradually accumulated the items he NEEDED so much he couldn't throw them away no matter how broken down the item was. He was abusive. There I've said it. He would tell us to get out of the house. It was his castle and we had to do what he wished. We were not allowed to open the refrigerator to get food. It was all his. We were to shut up, be quiet, he didn't want to hear kids when he was not at school. Everything was about him. He hated taking e places and constantly complained when he "had to". I was a burden in his eyes.
My Mother wasn't cold but she wasn't a comforting presence. We did not hug in our family or say I love you. In fact those actions came with discomfort they were so seldom experienced. Her idea of good parenting was ignoring us when we acted out. My Father's idea of good parenting was to bully us and scare us into behaving. But neither of my parents had a clue about children's behavior. They had both been only children.
We did not see them most of the day. We went to school or the baby sitter's house. When we came home we were told to go out and play and were only allowed in when dinner was ready. Then we had homework to do. My Father, a junior high school science teacher had summers off. We could stay home after a certain age which meant playing outside all day. It wasn't bad, we lived near a beach and on an island and the neighborhood was safe back then. Even now it is safe because it is isolated. BUT we COULD NOT COME IN THE HOUSE. any times my Father would drink and or sleep and he wanted no noise to disturb him. Summers were only fun because we were not at the abusing baby sitter's house and it was warm enough outside to enjoy be outside. The only time we were allowed in was if it was raining. Otherwise we were outside Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter.
In an abusive household children learn how to deal with an unequal social structure. Power, control, fear and threats are used to manipulate everyone. The atmosphere is unbalanced and children learn to deal with other children in the world around them in the same way. No one is equal and you quickly learn that you must find a way to deal with the abuse so that you can deal with life. Sounds easy? It isn't. Sometimes the abuse ranges from emotional to sexual to physical to mental. The more abuse you suffer and the different types of abuse you experience sets you up for how you see, experience and react to the world.
My life was a raging hell. I was in flux between what I thought heaven and hell were. I was influenced into believing that my parent's were "good" because the baby sitter's house (where I experienced sexual, emotional, physical and mental abuse,) was so "bad". The reality was that both places were unhealthy. I assumed the sickness that I experienced at the baby sitter's house had infected me. I was now warped and didn't deserve anything good. Anytime I was denied love, affection, attention or a serious audience for my complaints I came to believe that I didn't deserve any of these. It is difficult to feel safe when no place or person is there to protect you. For some reason my older sister and youngest brother were able to protect themselves. They experienced (almost - very very important,) all the abuse that my oldest brother and I experienced. It came to be that each one of us turned out differently than the other.
