Late last night Mandy posted a question on my post Daddy. It got me thinking. I must sound like I’m not recovering very well from my childhood abuse. I must sound like I’m justifying my abuser. Maybe I am, and I just don’t realize it.
I couldn’t ever reconcile with my mother, and I pull no punches about her cruelty. But, I managed to see the good in my dad.
I’d like to think that I am just seeing the difference between a lost and wounded soul, tortured from their own childhood abuse and neglect, and a truly evil individual, an honest to goodness narcissist. I’d like to think that I’m just that capable of forgiveness, and he was just that capable of repentance. I’m open to correction though if you think I’m deluded. I really am. I want to heal, not fool myself into thinking I’m healing.
My mom got pregnant with me at a New Year’s Eve party, standing up, drunk, in a doorway. Too much information? Yeah, I thought so, too, when she shared that with me at the age of nine. She was engaged to someone else at the time, and my dad had a girlfriend.
Daddy married my mom on February 15, 1965, just as soon as possible, in order to uphold my mother’s reputation and honor. He felt that she was a “good gal” and didn’t want her publicly shamed.
She didn’t break up with her fiancee. She continued to write him letters as though the engagement was still on, in spite of being married and big pregnant with another man’s child. My dad apparently didn’t break up with his girlfriend either. She gave birth to their son when I was two months old.
My dad was an adulterer. Plain and simple. He had been horribly sexualized in some pretty vulgar and violent ways as a small child, and it whetted a strange appetite in him that he battled until the day he died. His own father had been an adulterer and had abandoned the family, hungry and lacking. My dad was determined to not be like his own father, so he worked very hard, sometimes up to three jobs, in order to provide us with a good living. I guess he somehow thought that compensated for the multi generational adultery addiction that he maintained.
My mom was the darling, long awaited daughter of a preacher and a nurse. She was adored and enjoyed a loving extended family. Grandpa doted on her; her uncles visited weekly, bringing ice cream, and playing games; and Grandma helped in her classes and babied her when she was sick. I guess she somehow thought that everyone in life was supposed to adore her and wait on her, bringing her gifts and expecting nothing of her.
Daddy bought Mom expensive things and took her on trips. He flew us to the coast for dinner because she loved prawns. She never cleaned the house or prepared meals. And, she tortured me when my dad wasn’t around.
She starved me and beat me mercilessly. My dad made beer batter pancakes and homemade bread and filled my empty stomach on his days off. The worst spanking I remember getting from him (other than the time when I was 15 and he beat me so badly) was the annual birthday swats. He loved to sneak in my bedroom at 7:10 and wake me up to give me my birthday “spanking.” I was born at 7:10 in the morning, and he thought it funny to see me open my eyes to a new day at the same time I’d first opened my eyes to new life.
My teachers always had to sit on the sidewalk with me and wait for my mother hours after school was out. She’d be talking on the phone or hanging out with friends and “forget” about me. My dad volunteered to go on the 6th grade camp out as a chaperone and teach some of the nature classes.
Several of my best memories are of being suddenly called to the principal’s office. I always thought I was in trouble, though I was a good kid, at the top of my class. Outside my classroom door my dad would be waiting, big smile across his face, arms loaded down with my school books. He would prearrange with my teacher for me to miss a couple of days while we took an impromptu trip, but he also got a list of the planned assignments and would teach me himself. Education was important, and he didn’t want me to fall behind. He turned those little trips into extended field trips, buying books and quizzing us upon our return home. He missed naps during hunting season in order to teach me math, my poorest subject. And, he always seemed ready and excited to help with homework and projects.
For a health class every student had to chart what they’d had for breakfast as part of one of those “Start your day with a healthy breakfast” campaigns. My column was blank all the way across. When my mother found out she was furious. She beat me and yelled, “You’re trying to make me look bad! You should have told me! I would have made sure you had breakfast! You just want me to look bad!” I was six.
When I started my period for the first time I was scared to death. It was early one morning before school. My mom was in the room with me and threw a box of her pads at my head. That was it. I went to school, not sure what to do or how to feel.
Skin and bones and young I was extremely irregular for a long time. So, when I started unexpectedly at my dad’s house one time in the middle of the night he tenderly showed me how “the old women used to make ‘em themselves” using his towels. He made sure his girlfriend went to the store for me first thing in the morning.
My dad was careless to leave his porn lying around everywhere. My mother showed me porn and taught me how to give blow jobs when I was eight years old. By eleven she was taking me to parties where everyone was drunk and skinny dipping. And, by the time I was twelve she’d come in late from the bars and wake me up to tell me all the details of her latest pick up’s anatomy and how good he was in bed.
My dad would patiently listen to my teenage drama and offer wise advice. He taught me to cook, hand sew, can food, shoot a gun, and milk a cow. My mom always did all the talking and didn’t seem interested in my life unless she was reading my diary. She taught me how to make hospital corners on a bed, iron a shirt, and give a blow job.
My dad was a misogynist just like his dad had been, and he said some really cruel things to me. Women were only good for one thing, and most of them weren’t good at that. My mother made it personal. There was nothing good or right about ME personally, not just my gender. My mother said that she could tell as soon as I was born that I was a “little bitch.”
My dad could also praise me though, and he let me know regularly that he was proud of me for my latest accomplishment. My mother said that absolutely everything bad in her life was my fault and could list them all off. She did so regularly. She also said that I would never amount to anything.
My dad used me as his guinea pig for drug testing when I was in my late teens. My mom and her friend had been pouring booze down me since I was nine.
My dad would turn on me at my brother’s insistence. My mother had my brother sit on my chest while she pummeled my face.
My mom continually threatened to have my children taken from me if I didn’t do whatever it was she wanted me to do. My dad continually told me I was a good mother.
And, so it goes. Round and round. Neither of them were going to win a parent of the year award, but on a sliding scale my dad was definitely the “good parent.”
In spite of all of that, God placed a heavy burden on my heart about five years ago to show both of my parents honor. It was an unrelenting shout in my mind that wouldn’t stop. I finally called each one of them and apologized for being such a rebellious teenager.
My dad was so shocked that he laughed. And, then, quietly and gently said, “Hon, there is nothing to forgive. You brought me so much joy.” So, our healing conversations began, and a beautiful and sweet relationship developed.
My mom wouldn’t ever return my calls, so I finally emailed her a lengthy and humble email of apology. She shot me back a short and blunt email. ”I forgive you. I’m sorry for whatever you think I did to you. Mom”
Even dying of pancreatic cancer, she refused to accept me, refused to admit she’d wounded me, refused to reconcile with me. She took her hatred of me to her grave.
My dad was still working in his 70′s and had been coughing up blood for over a year, but he ordered supplements for me and bought me gifts. He called to check on me daily. As death drew nearer to him he drew nearer to me.
When they found his body he was sitting down, legs straight out in front of him, arms outstretched with palms turned up, his head tilted back, and he had a faint smile on his face. It was a posture of worship. Joyful worship. I have to believe that I wasn’t the only one who forgave my dad for his sins.
Maybe I am justifying my abuser. But, maybe I’m letting him teach me one last lesson. A lesson of mercy and grace.
Oh this post made me cry! I don’t know the answer to your question. I don’t know if you are justifying you abuser. I don’t know enough about all of this to give you an answer. I would like to say though that though he was abusive on some levels I don’t believe he did it with the tactical pre-meditation that an abuser does. I hope he did seek forgiveness from God and finally got peace himself.
Thank you; I don’t believe he did it with the tactical pre-meditation of an abuser either. I didn’t know how to put it. That is well stated! That is exactly it. My mom was always plotting and scheming her cruelty. My dad seemed to just slip off the boat into the murky sea of his past. I shared my dad’s story with my counselor, and she was just shocked that he’d ever done as well as he did. She’s the one I asked, “So, you think my dad just didn’t have the tools in his toolbox?” She leaned forward and said, “I don’t think your dad had a flippin toolbox!”
There’s no doubt in my mind about his forgiveness and peace. He’d said and done enough things at the end that I was pretty certain. But, my uncle made a point of calling me after my dad’s death and telling me that he wanted me to come over so he could talk to me about something. He wanted me to know that my dad had “made peace with his Maker before his death.” :’ )
That is wonderful! I am glad to hear that
as I said before my Grandpa was a heard man but he loved the Lord with all of his heart. He and his siblings were left at an orphanage after his mother died and his father remarried a woman who didn’t want children. He was adopted by a good family but became an alcoholic and was a very rebellious man. He was saved when he was an adult and never touched alcohol again but he had an underlined anger that stemmed from his heard, unresolved past. I am glad you daddy found peace and that you will get to see him again one day.
That is wonderful; you will see your grandpa again someday, too! : ) Like Dean Braxton says, “We like to put God in boxes.” We have this idea in our minds of what Christians are supposed to act like and look like when all that is required is Jesus. Do you know Him? Do you love Him? Have you repented before Him? That’s it. And, since that’s it, even men who are rough around the edges can have the assurance of salvation. Hallelujah!
Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between.
What do you mean? Please expound.
I mean that I totally think your positive spin on it is accurate, but an injured part of you probably justifies him as well…. pretty much that I don’t think the answer is if you’re doing one thing or the other, but maybe a combination of the two, which is completely normal for what you’ve lived through. You’re extremely honest about your feelings, and I admire that. It takes a lot of strength. Love you, friend
Thank you! I knew you would be honest with me, so I really appreciate your take on it all. I love you!
Clearly your dad was a lot better parent than your mum was. Sure he had grave faults and some not-at-all-secret sins that he habitually indulged in.
I don’t hear you justifying him; I hear you describing him, as accurately as you can, just as you are describing your mother as accurately as a you can. I hear you weighing up the damage from each of them. I hear you saying you forgave him in the end, and I hear you very clearly saying you reconciled with him because he responded way better to your apology for your rebellious teens than your mother did. I hear you expressing and describing the pain of a very deprived and emotionally neglected childhood, and it is only natural that you longed for healthy connections with your family or origin. Your dad was the one of the better parts of your family that was on offer, and you relished that and valued it for what it was. I hear you doing all this with a noble spirit, not with a craven or cowering spirit that is still hiding from the truth.
And IF there happens to be any further truths about your dad that you haven’t yet weighed up and faced, I’m sure you’ll weigh them and face them as soon as the Lord puts his spotlight on them.
In the meantime, I suggest you enjoy the journey of recovery, and don’t worry too much about whether you’ve got it ‘all sewn up’ yet. God is doing a good work in you, and you are cooperating with him; that is an excellent thing.
Oh, thank you so much! Okay, I’m just still at a point where I don’t totally trust myself, my instincts, or my judgment. In a lot of ways, I feel like I still need friends to help me shine the light on places I might be too afraid to look at if left to myself. That was what I needed to hear! Thank you; thank you! : D
What comes to me on reading this deep and thoughtful post is the difference between forgiveness that is accepted and forgiveness that is not accepted.
We are commanded to forgive, not seven times, but seventy times seven times (Matthew 18:21-22). I believe that is for our own salvation: if we refuse to forgive, we cannot be forgiven. However, others may accept or reject our forgiveness–and forgiveness doesn’t go full circle and become complete until it is both given and received.
Receiving forgiveness requires that the person being forgiven recognizes that she or he has “sinned,” or done something wrong. Another way of saying this is that in order to receive forgiveness, a person must repent. Repentance also requires that the person stop acting in evil ways, and begin acting in good ways. It doesn’t work to repent and then keep on sinning!
As I read your posts, it appears to me that your father repented, but your mother did not. Therefore your father was able to complete the circle of forgiveness, and mend the relationship with you in his last few years, whereas your mother was not. I believe that this has a great deal to do with your ability to make peace with your father in your mind and heart, but not with your mother. (I do also recognize that your mother was far, far more cruel and damaging to you than your father ever was–and I don’t want to minimize that.)
I once again refer to Ezekiel 18, which tells us that if anyone repents of the evil he or she has done and begins a new and upright life, none of the former evils will be remembered against them. Because of this, it is very understandable that you can have good and fond memories of your father, but not of your mother. I believe your father regretted the evil and destructive things he had done to you along the way, whereas your mother never even admitted that she had done anything wrong.
Amen! Did i ever share with you about the cup of repentance thing that I did with my youngest son? His dad and uncle disregarded J’s memories of abuse and chided him because “Christians are supposed to forgive.” It was confusing to a small child! So, I took a pitcher of water and told him to pretend that he had done something really bad to hurt me, but I was going to forgive him. The water in my pitcher represented my forgiveness. I acted like I was going to pour it at his feet. He jumped back and squealed. I acted like I was a little surprised that I hadn’t realized he didn’t have a cup of repentance for me to pour my forgiveness water into. I explained it, and he really seemed to clearly understand the concept.
I really like your last paragraph here. So, if I’m following correctly, it’s sort of like the Lord has taken those memories from me. Because of my dad’s sorrow over his wicked deeds they’ve been blotted out, not just from the Lord’s memory but from mine as well. That sting will no longer be remembered. : )
Great demonstration!
And yes, about the last paragraph, that’s exactly what I meant. I had always thought of it as the Lord forgetting, and had an idea of the divine and human justice systems forgetting (sort of like a statute of limitations triggered by repentance), but now it’s become more clear that it also means that people who have been hurt by the person’s actions can forget too. Not literally that there’s no memory of it at all anymore (and of course, some of the prior damage still has its effects), but that the memories are healed, and no longer have the sting that they had before.
P.S. I have also experienced first-hand how a person who has been pampered and indulged growing up can be both cruel and completely oblivious to the feelings and the well-being of those they are being cruel to. The world revolves around them, and they have no awareness that their actions could be extremely painful and damaging to others. They are so wrapped up in themselves that they have no awareness that others’ have feelings that could be hurt–nor do they care to develop that awareness.
Parents who indulge and spoil their children are setting them up for a life of self-absorption that will require deep self-examination and repentance to correct. Most are so busy letting the world revolve around them that they never even take the first step toward repentance. In a counter-intuitive way, your mother was also a victim of her parents and her family of origin. However, unlike your father, she never reached the point of repentance. She could have, but she did not. Therefore she is still culpable for all of the evil and destructive things she did.
It is a tragedy and a shame. So many lives are touched and damaged by that negligence/indulgence.
Thank you for saying that she is still culpable for her evil actions. I’ve had way too many Christians try to convince me otherwise. That hurts and somehow misrepresents God’s justice. It’s as though they think they’re comforting me in my mother’s death by saying that she may have repented alone in those last hours when she was dying. My comfort comes in knowing that she will be held accountable for the horrible things she did. Unless, of course, she did repent in those last few hours alone. If that were the case I’m certain I’ll be able to forgive her when I reach glory as well. However, in the meantime, here on this earth, I’m left to bear the scars of wounds she never acknowledged, and I rest in the knowledge that someday I may experience true justice and vindication.
Oh, the things some Christians say! They should read their Bibles more carefully.
I think you’ve got it exactly right.