By cbat
I have always longed for the time I could just find the cool, quiet comfort of death.
I finally realize why this has always been so enticing.
My father was in a lumberjack accident when I was five.
He was pronounced dead and then his heart started beating 30 minutes later. He was in a coma and when he woke up his brain waves had been damaged, so he had difficulty expressing his feelings or speaking what he was thinking.
He tried to tell us about the place his spirit went, his description of heaven. He would cry, and the longing he felt because he wanted so badly to return was heart breaking.
Watching my giant beautiful father longing to die, left me with a feeling that death led to a better place. So I see death for me as something to celebrate.
As far back as my memory goes I have fantasized about a cool dark comforting place, I lay back shutting my eyes, nothing hurts either physically or mentally.
All my loved ones are safe there is no contention or pain for them.
I finally give myself permission to stop, they understand and rejoice with me. There is no anger or judgment.
While this has always been how I feel, I hope they are aware that I am proud and thank full for every second spent with them.
I would like to dream in this sanctuary; in my dreams my children are always near, so I may be able to watch,enjoy and assist them.
I have always carried a feeling of someone standing by me with a feeling of love and reassurance giving me a distinct knowledge that the one by my side is one who is dear to me. Though not always the same person they come and go. They are telling me that it is not emptiness after this life ends.
They tell me that all we experience is not all there is, what we live we share-we are never alone.
| Author Notes |
Having lived saturated in religion.
I was born with a less than comfortable body. I am thankful for my children and their children. Without this twisted thing called religion, I would have lost this joy and gone to my sleep long ago. |
By cbat
It was Saturday, I knew I had to be on special behavior today as I arrived at work.
I worked at an establishment called the "Miracle Manor,"
one of many homes Mr clinger owned.
I had just recently met him. He traveled from one "home" to another.
The whispers had been that Mr Clinger was expected to share a bed with our matronly manager.
My first impression had been less than good.
He was enormous,with gray hair and even older than my father.
He had also taken advantage at any given chance of young girls, A pat here a helping hand there.
Because of the times and his position he knew he could get away with it.
My first encounter had been days ago.
I had been putting on an apron to cover my top, then tying the strings in back, he had been far more than willing to help.
He thought he was flattering me when he remarked that "Many young women did not have enough on top to keep an apron up".
This Saturday morning my manager immediately sent me to the kitchen to help with breakfast.
I walked into the kitchen to see Mr Clinger holding a huge metal bowl, beating batter.
"Making pancakes," he proudly announced.
It was hot in this huge kitchen, Mr C was tall and portly.
I winced as I silently watched rivers of sweat pour down his brow; Splat! Again and again. Did nobody but me see that his sweat was dropping into the batter?.
All that morning I had to watch everyone from patient to employee enjoying delicious pancakes, "more butter or syrup?" He would ask.
"Oh No! Thank you! They look wonderful, I had told him, I am on a diet!"
This was a good excuse for any young lady. Especially me, because I did not want to be fired.
Never again was I able to even take one bite of a pancake.
I missed the dollar pancakes my mom made when I was small.
Years later I am old, The family goes out to eat; my gran child says "Are you having Pancakes?" I shudder and once again tell my horrifying story.
| Author Notes |
This story is known by all of my children.
Even now I only eat waffles. |
By cbat
I watched as the orderly escorted her in; she acted almost like royalty.
She was a tiny beautiful girl.
She had long curly brown hair reaching down her back. Her big brown eyes struggled to remain aloft covering her fear.
Her clothing and actions spoke of money.
Her name was Sue. She came from another home for special needs people.
It was plain this was a step down from what she was used to.
She was in her early twenties.
She had been in homes from a young age. Placed by her wealthy family.
She had epilepsy being prone to occasional seizures.
Her family embarrassed, put her in the best homes they could find, appeasing guilt with procured education and expensive clothing.
From my conversations with her later, I understood that she had never been visited by family.
This was the 60's, very little had been discovered about this illness, it was presumed to be a mental illness and meant that the person with it had diminished intelligence.
Because of unexplained seizures; we the caregivers were schooled on how to handle her if she had one. We must place a spoon between her teeth to keep her from biting her tongue. I was grate-full this never happened.
Owen had been a patient in this place for years. He was a great help with other patients, also willing to do jobs around the home, chattering constantly.
He was a lean young man with slightly thinning hair, He was not unattractive; being far more appealing than the other residents.
He was in my guessing, between 30 or 40 years old. He acted young for his age and was eager to see all he could in this restricted life.
He was inquisitive and willing to help anywhere he was allowed.
Never had he shown aggressive or violent behavior.
He was fully aware of the normal life that his condition had denied him.
From the moment he laid eyes on Sue he was besotted.
She took a little time but soon realized her power over him; using it to her advantage.
They were the only children there so naturally they turned to each other.
When I came in to work in the mornings, they were there; staring into each others eyes, doing everything together.
Owen lead Sue around showing her the best things he could about this place. Giving her the biggest piece of cake. Doing all he could to make her smile.
As we the caretakers watched this little love bloom, we were touched and wanted them to thrive, getting all the happiness they could.
They glowed, seeming to become just a set of lovers, to someone looking in.
Then we had to ask; Do we need to use caution with them?. What happens if they become sexually active?.
The overseer investigated records. Both Owen and Sue had been physically altered when younger to avoid procreation.
Why not let them have this time in love.
Then Sue told of exciting plans, Owen joined in.
They wanted more; an apartment, jobs and a normal life, getting married and leaving this place.
Soon after; I came to work one morning to find a frantic Owen. He was heartbroken and crying.
Sue had been taken by someone. Her family had found out about her and Owens plans. They have taken her away again.
Owen would never be the easy going fellow he had been, he carried his sadness for all to see.
We could only sympathize with Owen, we were helpless also.
As the years brought more knowledge of illness and causes, the barbaric treatment of people stands out.
This intelligent beautiful young girl would have gone far in the outside world. Such a shame to be held back from her destiny.
| Author Notes |
I was young myself, taking each day as it came.
So much now I see that I did not before. |
By cbat
She is escourted in by an orderly
| Author Notes | A time spent |
By cbat
She turns every one's heads, an unusual sight being escorted in by an orderly, she comes from another home something like this. Why she has ended here no one knows.
Tiny and petite she was a delicate beautiful little thing.
Her long curly brown hair reaching her waist, she had big brown eyes.
She was in her early twenties.
She reeked of money.
So why was she here? In this place of poverty and age.
The explanation; She was born to a wealthy family , but had seizures.
(In the 60's epilepsy was considered a mental disease).
Her family, embarrassed; put her into homes for mentally and physically dependent people. Salving their conscience by giving her what they thought was the best money could buy. She was dressed in expensive clothing. She seemed also to have received as extensive education.
This choice of residence also kept her hidden from her family's friends.
From my conversations with her she indicated that her family did not visit.
Despite her treatment she was full of life, eager and interested in everything.
She was like a bright light in this dreary place.
Owen; Has a slightly balding head, regular build and is younger than most of the patients.
He is not unattractive, certainly more appealing than others living here.
He is approximately 35 years old and has been here most of his life.
He is considered "slow".
He works and wanders over the house, talking to everyone. He is often restless. He has never shown a sign of aggression or violence.
As an care taker, I found Owen to be full of curiosity, aware of his disability and what he has been denied.
Joy is escorted in, clearly this home is less than she has been used to.
The caretakers are briefed on her condition, kindly we are told of the unfair diagnoses.
We must watch Joy for seizures, if she collapses we need to put a spoon between her lips to prevent her biting her tongue.
This did not happen during my time with her.
From the second Owen laid eyes on Joy he was captivated.
We watched as she got to know him, He took care of her not wanting to be separated.
She quickly realized her power over him and used it to fill her lonely life.
I would come to work; To find them laughing and flurting they became completely engrossed in each other, they walked, worked and played together, if a stranger saw them he would not realize their disabilities.
They both seemed to glow with this newly found love.
Now caretakers wonder, do we need to assure they are not in a sexual relationship?.
Research tells that both have been medically altered early in their lives to avoid reproduction.
We the onlookers saw this as sweet and innocent; why not let them find pleasure in this restricted life?.
Then misguided hopes and dreams along with their plans were revealed.
Owen and Joy wanted more; A normal life with marriage away from this place. They believed this was possible.
Shortly after: I came to work, to find Joy was gone.
Her family has taken her away again.
Owen was heartbroken, He would not fully recover from this.
We the caretakers were also heartbroken, How could life be so cruel.
As years pass this "Disease" is diagnosed and better treated, it has nothing to do with the mental capability of the carrier also the seizures are controllable. People lead good normal lives.
| Author Notes |
Watching as medical teniques and technology advance the horrendous practices of less than a century ago cause sadness.
I am releasing this, I will continue to edit my writings. |
By cbat
I stop to watch; They are both intimidating, sad and amusing.
They are almost identical, same age and over six feet tall, wide girth. Both have dark hair Lavern's is a little shorter. They are about 40.
They have a secret language.
Lamar is helping Lavern search for cigarettes stashed in her bosom.
She started but was slow to extract them.
They are strong capable children, innocent in their way.
Invaluable at this establishment because they clean, carry and assist the caregivers.
This they do this cheerfully, seldom complaining or frowning.
As long as they are together.
Their currency is cigarettes promised to them when jobs are done. They get the most out of each day, talking to each other constantly discussing their activities.
Now I wonder how many years these two spent together and I am sure that when one left the other followed.
I am just coming to work at a Rest home for the unwanted children born physically or mentally unfit most have been trapped here for years.
This is the "Miracle Manor". There are no miracles here.
It is the sixty's.
Looking back the ways and treatments seem barbaric.
| Author Notes |
Once again incidents pulled from my early years.
Just brief pictures that I forgot for so long. These experiences will be buried in part with me. It's okay, I look fore-ward to the rest. |
By cbat
I struggle up the last flight of stairs, passing odd; some deformed, slightly unsettling scraps of humanity. They wander aimlessly, some seeming unaware, others seeking the ultimate treasure.
"Got a smoke?" They plead.
I look down the dim hall, it narrows and the roof comes down giving little space for the room at the end.
I am not afraid, I am fifteen and this is my first job, but I sometimes feel I belong more with these kind than my own.
I am decked out in my white nurse dress and apron.
The waddling butt of the nurse ahead of me squeezes into the room, beckoning me to follow.
I squeeze into the room, seeing two small beds, each barely big enough to hold the little men in them. The men are small their bodies twisted with age, heart wrenching withered old men. Both have brown skin with little tufts of hair on their heads, many age spots, their withered old hands clutching thin blankets. They are alert, they are called Rex and Tex.
The sight of them in this alien environment causes me to ask who they once were and how they lost Their identities.
The little information available tells me of ancient Indian chiefs. What their tribes are is unknown. They have difficulty speaking and talking to us. Their words come out whispered, They seem to feel as though they have been misplaced far from their homes.
Even stripped of all they were they still carry inner regal personas. How did such obviously honorable men come to be here?.
I am told to talk to them, Help them to eat and make them comfortable if possible.
The year is 1965, I escaped to St George, a city 50 miles from my home.
I wandered the streets asking for jobs, I found an old apartment to share with revolving girls, different ones each week, all having left home looking for work.
I found a job at "Miracle Manor".
This awful place is state owned. A place for homeless, deformed and old people, many have a shady past. These are unwanted people, some have been here since birth for others this is their last stop; a place to die.
The work at this place is shocking, I see misfits and portions of humanity people I did not know existed, there is no hope here.
My short time with Rex and Tex is a moment I will always treasure.
Sitting with them, I tried to understand their words, unable to gather much about their past lives as leaders and chief's of their people. I wonder how long they have been here?. Who did this to them.
I come in one morning to be told Tex died in the night.
I hold the tiny withered hand of heart broken Rex.
He shakes with little strength.
He calls me "Missy". He is dying also.
I can only reassure him I will not let go of his hand. I am privileged to sit with him until he dies.
I feel him leave, I let go of his hand; he is free.
Now I realize he decided when to die, he stayed so long for his companion Rex. With Rex gone he can finally leave the pain and this haunted room.
I have always wondered; Were there any loved ones on this side to mourn them?
I know for myself someone met them on the other side.
Nobel loved ones, a painted pony and feathered band for each.
| Author Notes |
I am not an expert on Indian history.
I do have ancestors with the bloodline. To be able to go back to this time and actually ask and listen would be such a wonderful thing. Because I was basically self centered I have to fill in blank spaces that are not accurate. |
By cbat
I woke; it was late into the night.
I heard screaming- What was happening? Someone was begging, crying. "Who was that?".
Sneaking down the stairs, my big sister and I, peeked through the stair railing.
Mom was there saying "Daddy please don't. Stop!".
Grandma was hanging onto dad she was pleading and crying "Please don't kill him. He doesn't know any better" He can't help himself.
My father Roared. He was a huge man, made of muscle. The sound put chills down our spines.
I peeked down the stairs; Mom and grandma were struggling with dad, trying to keep him back from our uncle John who was cowering in a corner, fear in his eyes.
Dad was swinging a large link of thick chain.
"I will kill him" he roared.
I think if dads beloved mother hadn't been there that night that dad would have killed uncle john.
Mom sometimes could not get through to dad.
Grandma had always been more important to him.
Dad had problems and often couldn't control his anger. After the accident happening when I was five. His headaches caused rages that made him dangerous to everyone around.
I had never been afraid of him, but had been afraid for others when he was angry.
What was happening? Something to do with my tiny sister.
Gradually the crying and screaming subsided.
They talked with occasionally raised voices long into the night.
Having been ordered to our rooms we could only wait for the morning.
We lived in a large home at this time, with my fathers mother and his only brother.
Dads brother was fully grown but had; as I learned gradually, the mentality of a child.
Physically he worked beside my father, cleaning the barn and taking care of the animals he was strong and able, mentally he struggled to read simple words.
Until this time he had seemed to us to be just another kid.
From what I was told that night "Uncle John" had hurt my little sister.
Years later I realized the hurt had been sexual, but I never understood the extent.
After this incident my grandmother and uncle were moved to a little house of their own.
And our time spent with uncle john was limited.
My uncle died a few years later. Grand mother died just after I married.
Sadly this day put a space in my fathers relationship that was never breached.
A father unable to protect his child.
A brother damaged and perhaps never fully understanding what he had done.
This small child always seemed to be pushed to the back of things even when she was the victim.
How this affected her life was never discussed.
As she grew and married she was still in the middle.
She married the husband of my big sister. Each having nearly a dozen children.
She was a middle child, in every way.
Not the oldest, nor the youngest not even the only middle child.
Just one of them.
As an older sister I gained recognition because of my sickness and horrific temper.
She was the opposite, quiet kind and needing protection from her own siblings.
Always the one others depended on, she was gentel and sweet. She was always there to help cover our antics.
I have vague memories of this bad time in both of our lives.
She was years younger than I, this was something done to her.
I was just a watcher.
Now I am old and just putting together things I should have realized years ago.
When a child is "special" as we describe them today, they need so much individual attention and many times I have seen the family being so anxious to treat them normally that they have forgotten the need to monitor this special child, this is imperative, to protect the innocent around them as well.
| Author Notes |
Many people in our lives are our strength and base, always there when we need them, solid and undemanding.
We so easily accept and use them. But do we give as much as we take? Even this story fails to bring the middle child out of the corner. |
By cbat
We were woken with whispers and someone shaking us, "Get up! Hurry-be quiet."
It was dark outside, there were no lamps lit.
There was a feeling of fear in the air.
Mom and dad bundled us up. There were five of us, two sisters and three brothers. I was three.
We were hurried out the back door of our little cabin, and into the trees.
We were constantly warned to be quiet, crying children hushed by their mothers.
I saw others stumbling along with us, different families usually just women with children escaping.
We struggled along as light started the day. Behind us were faint sounds of sirens and panic.
Finally we reached an old road, others were in front also following the road, I could see a boy in pajamas he was being urged along he also seemed confused, and barely awake.
The old truck appeared on the narrow road, people were pushing it.
Mom said that if the truck was started someone would catch us.
Dad bundled us in the old truck, 'Uncle Buzz' has come to take us to safety.
Mom hung onto dad, he told her to be safe. He had to get into the mountains to wait until it was safe.
The old truck was pushed until it seemed far enough away to be safe to start.
We were confused and lost as our home disappeared behind us.
We lived in an polygamist town on the boarder of Utah and Arizona.
This little town had survived for many years without persecution from the states, because of state lines being in the middle of the town, If one state pursued the people they could simply move to other side of state line.
"Polygamy was "illegal" and from early years many men had spent time in jail because of their belief.
I had never known any other way of life.
My father was in the army, drafted just after marrying mom. They had just one child then.
He came back looking much older and haunted.
Since then our family had grown to five children. But so far dad had only one wife.
I was told later dad disappeared into the mountains above "Hill dale", the name of the boarder town. He would come down to cut fire wood and assist older people, those that were not taken by the law.
The States worked together to trap the people, arriving just before dawn to catch men at home.
The ones caught were loaded onto buses women and children were on one and men on another.
Families were broken and farmed out to people willing to take care of them temporally.
Our own family avoiding jail still needed to hide so were split up and put into willing relatives homes.
During our childhood the stories were just a part of what we listened to since babies.
Many stories were of men being accused of daughters being wives.
One favorite was a story of the big bad authorities going into homes, looking under beds and even into chamber pots. So silly! Who could hide in a stinky pot?
It took awhile until families wandered back to our home "Short Creek" Arizona.
The Raid was a scar on the State authorities because of the way people were treated. The people involved in this raid received assistance from many so becoming heroes and Martyrs for their belief.
| Author Notes |
It seems so distant, time and technology have advanced so far.
Fifty years from no electricity, running water and oil lamps. Hearing the stories, I have put little thought into them. Just a part of childhood. |
By cbat
The butterfly lands on her shoulder. She tells me that each summer it comes to her.
Standing on the rickety pourch off the back of the worn, run down old house and looking at the beauty she creates in her often discouraging world.
I cannot say do butterfly's live long?
I now realize it was not an indivdual butterfly but the belief that loved souls departed often come to comfort in butterfly form.
She has always had a different look on live's.
She is sure this is not her first. Her pet chicken is busy in the small yard.
This yard is carved out of what appears to have been someones junk yard.
Old pieces of wood and cars are turned into fences so that a patch of grass can survive.
This little oasi's is inviting so has kids of every size and coloring are swarming over the edges. Some boys to grown to swarm are lounging around pretending not to be aware of our conversation.
This life is filled with contention and bad health. She has eleven kids, Of course her health is bad.
She is an artist, her particular talent is painting (when her eyes let her).
She uses any type of paint avaliable. When your entire life has been scraping by with everything, you find ways to do your art. Art is a complusion.
Rocks, All sizes shapes. Her imagination see's them and what is inside.
She creates animals, castles with princesse's along with cars, airplanes or insect's, of course butterflies.
Often nail polish is her finishing tool, sparkly and plain.
Nail polish is also what help's her teach groups of grand-kids to paint their own rocks. Nail polish is small, spills are quickly fixed and nail polish is also easy to find.
Rock's are not all she paints, she has created paintings for years.
She grows everything better than I can, she seem's to compell plants to grow.
No she lets them do as they will, this freedom lets them thrive.
When she has her bad times, with headaches she talk's of her "Last Life".
She has always shed away from sharp objects, knives sizzors etc. As sistors I know it started in her beginning.
Last Life: She talks of darkness and chilling winds, clutching her long dark cloak around her she looks down, she is on a high cliff.
She is running she must escape someone is after her she thinks she has escaped then he grabs her. He is a roman guard he has been sent by his overseer. she struggles but cannot break away. He uses a sharp dagger, stabbing her.
She feels falling ;She dies.
At one point my sister accepted a reading from someone, it was taped and I was told it told an haunting story.
I did not listen or even see well at the times I had with her. These times were filled with problems and contention.
Our visits were far between but wonderful moments.
We showed off babies and above all if any of the ten of us got together there was a lot of laughter and good food.
We always carried on multiple conversations, loud and spirattic never loosing track of each, joining and adding without loosing the vein.
This caused much confusion for others around us. Men just being exposed To us especially.
My big sister April Dawn, died a few years ago she was under 60 yrs old.
She got cancer, she fought it going long ways to recieve medical Chemo.
Actually when she died she was cancer free, but her body was depleated of what she needed to fight infections. She had always experienced reactions to even tape used on her.
What was remarkable in her and I admired so much was that everything was an adventure. she enjoyed the people she spent time with during kemo the places she saw traveling and everything involved.
she did not complain at living in so much poverty or never having much money. even when deathly ill she showed excitement at life around her.
She was a timid beautiful child, when we were growing up as her little sister I felt the need most of the time to defend her, except from me.
I was mean but in atleast two ways she defeated me. She could out box me without effort and her backward whistle was much better than mine.
I go back to our childhood. we were moved into a new better home, electricity had come to the town. april and I were responsible for doing the never ending wash. We pulled the old wringer washer on to the back pourch.
She being the oldest prepared to plug it in, There was a trick to this, the plug was two sets of wires each needing to be inserted into two outlet openings.
She was attempting this; something went wrong and I watched her with a flash of electricity being thrown 10 feet. she recovered but for me there was all my life a fear of being shocked.
By cbat
The girls were hiking when they found a small stream with pool. It is hot and a swim seems just the thing. As the girls get into swim suits one is without a suit.
She the smaller raggedly one with banged knees is told by her big sister "you cannot go into the water mom said you will get sick" and
if you wear wet clothes home she will know".
She looks all around no one else is there, going to edge of water she quickly sheds all clothes including underwear. She slides into the water with big sister shaking her head.
The swim was heavenly, although short it feels so wicked. Getting out managing to get into clothes before being caught by others she is smug.
Going home , sis won't tell.
For a long time after each time she refuses to do something big sis wants her to do, out comes the necked swimming card.
"If you don't I will tell mom you swam necked!.
It is a long time before she decides it would be better to call the bluff.
| Author Notes |
In these times sometimes a Gypsy palm reader would chance by.
Mom probably bored, took one in to read our palms. My reading said I would get sick if I was exposed to cold water and swimming in ponds. My summer was challenging. I hated that woman. |
By cbat
Most of the kid's are overly excited, many are ready to go home.
All can't stop talking.
This evening started out as most did for kids from all over the neighborhood.
The parents as usual gathered at one home, not this one.
Parents often gathered at some one else's home to socialize, sometimes they were gone for hours.
This little town being made up of huge families some with over 20 children, meant that when parents were gone the children usually became bored and like the parents ventured out seeking other entertainment.
Much of the time this meant the "Bateman" place.
In this family there were many kids ranging from teen to baby.
These children created many of the more dangerous games.
And because both mom and dad were often away they were always up for anything.
Usually the games went on for hours.
War was always a favorite.
Kids would run, and climb on everything from house roofs to trees. They jumped and leaped on each other from everywhere, using crude homemade weapons.
There were always scratches with minor cuts and bruises, this was the normal and did not even raise eyebrows.
Any home the kids chose could easily be demolished.
The kids in the "Bateman" family had learned to repair and put back as much as possible before their parents got home.
They always had a lookout, they had learned to avoid the wrath of their mom.
She must have laughed when she found kids pretending to be asleep, some snoring.
This evening the kids having played out their usual war games got tired and bored. They were hanging around looking for suggestions of what to do next.
The "Bateman" family had many girls and a few boys.
The oldest girl was gentle and took responsibility for others.
The next to oldest girl was a scrawny, wild haired kid in pig-tail's. She could run jump and fight at the top of the game. Boys twice her size stayed back, she was mean and would turn into a wild cat to protect her gang.
The kids after awhile ran out of suggestions.
Suddenly a small girl shouted, "play the kissing game!".
What a shock! How did this tiny girl know about this game?.
It was no surprise that the older boys had heard of it though.
The difference in this and usual nights was that a new kid, cute and a little older than most was there for the first time.
This new kid piped up immediately saying that he would kiss every girl in the yard. He pushed other boys to join in this quest. The boys joined in; easily kissing all the girls both big and small; until they had only one left to kiss.
This one was the angry scrawny one. All boys but the new one knew enough to back off. So they followed behind the new kid.
The chase was on.
The girls ran with her, giggling and having a great time.
"Run they shouted! This way!.
Up stairs, down stairs out front then out back she was chased, all the while she was snarling and warning the boy to stop.
Toward the end of the game with only the new boy determined to finish, the girls were trapped in the bathroom, the door was locked.
New kid came through the window-wild cat had stepped into the old claw foot tub, new boy advanced on her with the girls screaming and the boys watching from outside the window; it looked like the game was over with the boys winning as new kid reached to grab her, she grabbed a metal hanger hanging on the tub shower rod, then backed into the corner of tub but he kept coming , desperately she raked the sharp edge of the metal hanger down his arm, he screams, blood flows and he backed out the window.
Reports were he cried said he was going home to get a glass of milk, but would be back.
She was a champion for awhile.
| Author Notes |
Looking back at those times I am amazed that more children did not have serious accidents.
Actually My brother fell out of a tree breaking his arm in eight places. My sister was bitten by the Black widow spider. My little brothers burned down the wash house. My sister fell off the back of a moving truck. I broke my collar bone. My brother shot younger bro with bow and arrow. I crashed my moms car. My big sister was given drugs away from home. A couple or more of my sisters were raped. One sister broke a boys middle finger. All the girls ran from evil old men, trying to cop a feel. some of us crawled into a badger hole coming face to face with an angry badger. My bro and I often killed rattlesnakes to retrieve baby birds or rabbits. Perhaps I speak too soon. |
By cbat
Wham!!Bang!!
The door on the old dilapidated house flys open!
Out comes a skinny knock kneed little girl, red hair messy, clothes torn.
Right behind her piles kids, of all sizes shapes and hair colors.
She is far ahead her legs pumping.
One of the biggest kids holler! Get her! She is going for the windmill.
They are after her-Jumping over the dirty yard with dry patchy grass and sticks or Junk piled everywhere.
The little ones are dragging behind, struggling to keep up, They do not want to miss anything.
Red reaches The wash house, the tank is right by it, there is not much water in it.
The rickety ladder to the top of the broken wind mill is between tank and wash house.
Up the ladder she goes.
"You get down from there!" Yells her favorite older brother.
"No I am going to Jump and kill myself" the little red yells!.
Everyone is excited, the older ones, sister and brothers are a little scared.
She is completely able to do what she says.
One brother says "I will go to the door in the top of the wash house I might be able to grab her from there". One little sister fellow's him.
Favorite brother and older sister are trying to talk her down.
Please come down! We are sorry, didn't mean it! What had set her off?
It could have been anything.
She is highly motivated often fighting always beating up others.
It has not helped that big brother set up fights with neighbor boys just to watch her make them cry.
All the kids are tough, bruised usually from a new game they made up..
She is at the top, no one can follow because she goes to jump if they climb the stairs.
The rickety door creaks open on the wash house attic.
Brother stick's his head out yelling "I can't reach her!.
From below the little ones have caught up.
All of a sudden one little girl yells "I saw the Devil in the attic".
Another backs this up, "I saw him too!.
Every one is distracted from the windmill jump. Even our redhead.
Shuddering the big brother and sister come out of wash house.
(Never will any go up there again).
The older kids thank full for the distraction; herd kids toward the house.
Their mom will be home soon, she will really be angry if their choirs are not done.
They are all tired and hungry, the excitement forgotten.
Red comes down, joining in on the "Devil" spotting.
One little tow head tells a slightly bigger bro "well she didn't jump this time".
"If she wanted to I would have let her". Is the reply.
These are the Batman kids, there are 15 all told. A couple older kids are not home. But there is never a shortage of fighting companions.
Parents often gone, father partly disabled.
Living below poverty level they have learned to defend their territory. They spar with each other. If challenged by outside force's they are an unbeatable force.
| Author Notes |
So many years ago. Many memories change with time. This is my offer.
This was a regular thing, in our sometimes fun, always crazy life. |
By cbat
Driving down to the city. Mom is in the Hospital.
Two younger sisters and one of their husbands are with us.
My brothers come into moms hospital room talking about the crazy thing they saw coming down.
Silent laughter as we catch each others glance.
A week earlier as a sister and I were driving to town with mom, she said "Look at that scarecrow! Somebody should take him and sit him on the toilet up at the ranch mailbox".
When she was hospitalized we passed the scarecrow, and off we went.
Sister's husband leading the way, the scarecrow was further out than we thought and firmly anchored, also much bigger than I expected.
Without Claude's help we would not have made it.
Finally we drag it to the truck, taking it to the house for a make over.
First the legs are bent, then a wig, a silly hat.
Then a pretty face long lashes and pouty lips painted on.
Next large pointy cones applied for bobbies that would "Stand out".
Then she is dressed in bright clothing.
Once she is positioned on the ranch "junk mail toilet" and wired in position her skirts are fluffed up and a dirty magazine is put on her lap.
This is what my brothers are laughing about, it was hard not to tell them we knew the perpetrators.
By Sunday noon one of the good religious men in the church has destroyed our handiwork, no one ever knew what happened to the dirty magazine? Can you guess?.
| Author Notes | Living in a small town controlled by religious fanatics, we; even as adults found ways to rebel. |
By cbat
Mom! My daughter frantically shouts, through the phone, he is here telling dad he and you are leaving town. He also took my credit card.
Shock sets in, then back peddling to understand.
I must explain to him that I could not leave with him, for many reasons. I needed him to understand I supported his family in doing what was best for him.
He is my beautiful gay step son, he is also using drugs.
Being gay, is with a little understanding and knowledge simply another human thing. Although all of my life and my children's lives has been controlled and shielded from worldly things, this just adds to his unique personality and beauty.
Understanding drug use and it's symptom's is something most of this large mixed up family had not yet experienced.
We found ourselves plunged into a heartbreaking extensive illness. Bringing constant guilt, despair and desperation.
We watched a beautiful, intelligent and social kid leave his family to explore another country, excited and full of plans. Coming back hurt and slowly revealing his addiction.
Everyone fights to understand, control and cure this.
Drug addiction is a terrifying ride through hell. To even learn about this is hard. To suddenly be faced with it leaves us bewildered angry and un-educated, striving to understand.
This family had faced a different kind of hell, living in a religion secluded from most of the outside world, purposely kept from seeing and learning about sex, drugs and the races issue.
I hear a knock at my door. Opening it I find my son standing there, he is bedraggled and pathetic looking, also too thin.
This is heartbreaking, because he is a tall beautiful kid, the kind of boy every one admires at first sight.
I draw him in, so glad to see him. Often I have gone many months without connecting, waiting for him to come see me.
We talk awhile then he explodes saying "MOM CAN'T YOU SEE IT?". Startled I ask what he means. "MY NOSE IT IS DEFORMED" he shouts. I am confused, I see nothing wrong. It takes awhile to understand and to make him understand. He looked great the idea that he was misshapen was untrue.
He tells me he just had another nose job done, he hasn't seen his family because it is so ugly.
He has all his life been an attractive boy, this he knew; he finished high school and later decided he wanted to travel some. Ireland was where he had dreamed of going.
I believe he traveled alone.
At this time I had difficulty keeping connected with him, not because I did not want to but due to other influences.
From what I learned through others this is what happened.
He went to Ireland, He was at a Pub or bar. When he left three men followed, they beat him up, taking his cell phone.
Later I found out he was hospitalized and nearly died. I still am not sure if part of this was because he was gay or if the men just wanted his cell phone.
After he recovered he continued to explore other countries.
He went to Mexico. During this visit, I think he found drugs.
I believe he was in pain after the beating, and he met someone he called "Friend", a doctor whom as far as I can tell got him hooked on drugs. Also this doctor had much to do with his feeling about his nose being deformed. I am not certain of details but I believe this doctor was a surgeon. From what my boy said this doctor previously operated on his nose (while he was in Mexico?)
When he came home he had a pet monkey, telling me about it, we were sorry I did not see it. The monkey was sent back to Mexico to his doctor friend. He also kept in touch with this doctor, days before he died he told me he called him.
After his initial visit I saw him more. My children keeping me up on his struggle. His father and mother learning about drug use, after his brother and sisters had fought it with him for awhile.
His family did as much as possible, desperately trying to help him. Gradually many had to shut him out being told that they must. The professionals saying he must get to rock bottom to recover. Also some felt he was a danger to families. This was the first time most of us had ever dealt with drug use, we were all in the dark.
Twice I offered him my home, he moved in. Twice he came to me after he failed to keep clean. Twice I had to have family help me send him away, this is one of the most difficult things anyone can go through, there is no way to stop the hurt.
I learned the four stages of drug use the hard way and I still am not sure.
1-sleep-very long, perhaps this is the good time.
2-retribution, working to help me around the yard, very sweet
3-paranoia-I had him drive not realizing he was still in the mode. We went on many hair raising rides with him looking back thinking drug people or cops were chasing us, out to get him, he not seeing reality or being considerate.
4-shame, self condemnation.Begging for forgiveness.
Then the fifth law to follow I must refuse him sanctuary.
A couple years passed with this repeated. Watching and suffering his pain, all desperate with no actual cures. Sometimes we went to the hospital with him to get help. He would be there until he dried out then they could not hold him any longer. He was on his way believing he could overcome this on his own.
Most times because he was not a child it had to be up to him to stick it out. He did a few times, seeming to improve.
Another failure brought pain and more trials to his parents, they sit by his side night and day, another effort to help him.
Another effort was medication; this one made him sick if he used,( very expensive).
He seemed to improve, buying a home. I visited a couple of times watching movies with him and his brother. He was very proud of the old home and had many ideas on fixing it up.
When he lived with me he would tell me shocking things about having parties with drug dealers at his home. He thought this would drive me away, he wanted me to reject him because it was too hard to keep trying.
His life changed when he met a man, falling in love. He was everything my boy wanted and they tried more than once to make it work. I believe this terrified him, because he had fallen off the plan too many times, and as with everything else he inside thought he was too weak and that he would always fail. He bailed just before his birthday, breaking his loves as well as his own heart.
He came to live with me, once bringing this beautiful man to meet me. They were a beautiful couple and this man was sophisticated and kind.
He was interested in everyone and everything, he made friends with all he saw. I later discovered that he knew every person on the my block, most were familiar with his dog Nala also.
He continued his education while traveling, gaining a bachelor degree. He worked at a military base earning almost 50,000 per year.
During his struggle he worked at the family company in the lab.
He walked others dogs, always an animal lover.
He worked at restaurant's as a dishwasher, and towards the end he worked at the university lab.
I think, he picked up smoking trying to give himself a distraction, or perhaps smoking marijuana came first, to me it seems to be a gateway to other things.
He tried so hard to cure himself, not realizing how good he was doing and how close he was to breaking the drug hold.
Many of the memories I carry were of his despair when he failed.
I drove with him to the family company to tell his bro-in law also his boss at the lab that he had used again, him coming to car broken because he was fired, blaming no one but himself.
He would bring home bread from the restaurant at night. I can see him with a giant piece of bread pacing, while taking savage bites from the bread, trying to distract himself.
He rescued a dog whom became his constant companion, the way she responded when he left each time broke my heart. Always she would jump on couch straining to see him as far as she could until he disappeared. As time went by I had to tell him I could not keep her without him. Also I encouraged him to find a stable home for her because she suffered each time he left. Days before he killed himself he brought Nala to see me. Earlier He had found a good home for her although she longed to follow him every where.
He went down again, agreeing to go to another place in Arizona, it was far out from civilization and required camping and more I did not understand. The camp had a time line. He was two weeks from finish and he escaped walking a long way.
This was his last time coming to my home. I told him I would not send him away again.
We talked lots about the programs used to cure. I lost faith in the ability they had to cure, I was always honest with him. He told me also that 80% of these programs failed.
The family agreed that my home was the most appropriate place because I was alone with no children.
I am not sure how many knew the reason for the latest failed attempt; the program had steps the patients followed. One was for the patient to read letters written by loved ones as to how he used and hurt them. I think the next step was supposed to be uplifting letters. I will never agree with this procedure, educated or not it is like stepping on fingers barely hanging on to the cliff. These letters broke him, they did not fix him, he had to escape. Also this seems so cruel to family that they must write such things when they also are just holding on.
Just before he died he came home from work at the lab in the university.
He thought he was screwing up and going to be fired.
He had just stopped smoking and was frantic to see change. He said "I have quit using the drugs and quit smoking I have a job but things are not getting better". He was crazy with desperation hitting his head with a fist. I calmed him the only way I knew how. We sat on his bed, both sobbing, he wailing hanging on to me for a long time.
I called his youngest sister and brother to come over, they did and he seemed to calm down.
From here to his death I knew that time was short, family did all they could, he was so loved by everyone that had ever known him.
The last week we spent our evenings with him folding origami he trying without success to teach me. I did my glass art. He came in to my room one night saying "We are not normal!"
During the clean times he worked desperately to fill his restless mind. He painted my home with colors I had never thought of painting walls. Orange, yellow, green and purple. On day as he painted a lilac bathroom he stood in the door waving his paint brush saying "I only use these colors for you and my little sister!".
He grew exotic plants, measuring plant food and humidity carefully.
He had a favorite plant I grew outside called "Bleeding heart".
We discussed so many things; I wanted my children to live as long as possible, but not live in pain and daily persecution. He had every thing to live for, he just could not see it.
Sometimes he talked about another life. He saw himself on an elevator holding a little girls hand her name was zoeie. He believed he had different lives with different mothers. He believed in other lives he would have. He also believed he had committed bad things and often in desperate times talked of burning to pay for them.
We watched television together, him coming down and climbing on my bed by me just as he did as a baby. I had to reassure him that if I seemed startled it was because I avoided contact with people-not because of them but because I felt I was repulsive.
Until he was a teen we lived in a home with his birth mother, all of us together, he had two moms and when this dissolved it left people with many problems, his other mom was my little sister she found it impossible to acknowledge me after I left her and the kids. A rift never to be breached, so kids being in the middle walked carefully. As did I.
Sometimes he brought friends home, some gay some not they were always so kind to me. They made me feel that my art was good.
One Sunday he decided we would go knocking on kids doors, our family hated surprise visiting from anyone, if it was unexpected it was hard to get in the door. We had a lot of fun.
He insisted we go to a movie one Sunday; he was trying to take me out of my comfort zone. Often I stayed in for long periods avoiding people.
This day we came home finding his room in the basement was flooded with 2 inches of water. We found the problem a broken washing machine, turning it off pulling his leather book collection out of the water. We sat upstairs on the couch flabbergasted then just started laughing.
He took me to the park for farmers day introducing his friends and showing me all the stands.
His final week he was back with his love, busy and seeming to finally be recovering. He burned a DVD for him.
During this struggle, often he would come down and get on my bike when frustrated, riding the pedals so hard that he almost flew.
We had a Christmas with my two younger kids we had nothing prepared so we ate hot pockets from a quickie store. I watched a show called "south park" with my three kids, shocking but very funny!.
He adored his large family, his mom and dad meaning the world to him.
The last weekend he came in late, deliberately I think because he did not want me to see his plan.
He visited his mom and family, He spent time with his love.
By Sunday I and some were worried, telling ourselves that he was with his mate, everything was ok.
Then he was found, He went to a favorite hiking place, probably taking something, then doused car and himself with gasoline. He curled up in back seat, hopefully asleep as he burned.
Agony! Guilt! Anger! Shock! Pain.
All these things together, At first thinking some one had done this to him. Far better than he doing it to himself.
Later the gas station cameras showing him buying a can of gas and beer.
His many siblings coming to my home to retrieve his things, plants, pillows with a scent of him. No relief from the pain except that his struggle was done.
Not so for us.
We found a DVD cut on my laptop for the man he loved. Watching this mans grief was agonizing.
Many weeks listening to the DVD before putting it away.
He was put in a corner of the yard he grew up in, flowers and favorite things around. Solar lite to show the way.
A year later his love was seen standing by his spot, head bowed.
| Author Notes |
This will take much to write, five years later I am still confused plagued by questions; did I help or cause the ending.
I cry as I write, years have passed and still feeling the pain. I talk about him often, not wanting to forget. This is just my story, It is not in the order of events, just as thoughts come. Everyone loving him see a different story, and know things I do not. This story is not supposed to bring pain to anyone. |
By cbat
Phone ringing, crying voice dale had an accident. She is in the hospital we are not sure what is happening.
This is a wedding day, it is supposed to be a happy occasion. The bride is a nice.
She is alive, one of nine sisters reports. My little sister years younger than I married to a boy she did not know. She was basically forced to marry by our misdirected parents.
At the time of the accident she had already gone through so much. Having 8 children and fighting every day for food and a decent home. Enduring untold sexual abuse from her appointed husband being told by her father in law that to satisfy her husband would assure her children would have food. Her body was depleted and one child was retarded. This child she taught and fought to keep in regular school.
Getting the courage to leave moving into a trailer with another sister eleven children together, she put her children in school then started trying to learn how to live in the outside world. This meant following all the things to prove she was a good mother and could support her children a fight because their father was determined to take them. He was following his fathers instructions, a polygamist father with many wives and numerous children.
It was close to the end of the fight she was winning, then she went on probably her first ever date. After getting to know him she also experienced sex with two people consenting, I don't think she had ever been advised about birth control because the polygamist religion taught it was wrong.
For a woman going through all she was it would be natural for her to be shocked and angry with this new problem. She was happy and her children were looking forward to the baby (this was the first child conceived in a chosen act).
By cbat
Mitzi and I grew up together, our mothers were sisters. We also grew up in the same town and from our ancestors the same polygamist religion.
We went to school and some high school together.
We were appointed to marry close to the same time also.
She was very smart and could sing and play the piano. She graduated from high school going on to college and becoming a teacher.
In many ways she was the opposite of me. Always the teacher pet.
She seemed to understand me better than I did myself. When I could not decipher my own hand writing she could.
She followed the rules better than I. We hiked, camped out and swam in any body of water.
When we married her appointed husband was a boy we knew and she constantly fought with. When his family first arrived in our little town his brother was the one all the girls flipped for.
We were in 8th grade and had a special club to worship this fellow. Mitzi was especially smitten, even up until the time she was married to his brother.
One morning I arrived at school to find mitzy upset and crying. I could not leave her alone so pressed for the reason she was sad.
Finally she burst out with a reason, she said this boy we both like said bad things about both of us. I as was often the case lost my temper and went after the boy, forcing mitzy to help write a note to him demanding he meet with us and answer for the insults. He did not respond, mitzy seemed more distraught than ever and my anger rose. During our recess the boys usually played basketball; I boldly marched on to the field and faced him demanding to know why he said such bad things about us, He seemed befuddled and dented saying anything, I by that time was out of control and did not believe him, so I stalked off. The next morning I came to school to find Mitzi crying again. After investigation She said "Jed did not say that, I made it up because you were driving me crazy about what I was upset about". After this we were both great at pretending it had never happened, although I think Jed was wary of me for the rest of the year.
Mitzi and I discovered "The facts of life" together, at least we thought we did.
Our education in this department was older married cousins and magazines called "True confessions" these we found in boxes of donated items given to our mothers. Needless to say the description I remarried was a pretty grouse and painful description.
Mitzi loved to play Button paper dolls, eventually my mom made me a beautiful set of paper dolls with clothes.
| Author Notes | This friend has stayed with me all my life. We have complete different outlooks on so much. She loves her religion, singing in a choir traveling and catching up on everyone and everything. She has never pushed her beliefs on me, although she occasionally prays for me. |
By cbat
Dad and mom made the decision to marry based on love, this was allowed if the parties wanted.
If a young man or woman did not want anyone then they were placed.
This did not change the fact that dad had more than one future wife lined up.
Some men were able to convince two girls to marry them at the same time.
Needless to say the rest of his life meant a well deserved hell on that particular day. I remember the neighbors with two mom's battling it out as to who got the asshole husband for the anniversary. When I say battling it means not just words but knock down beat up hair pulling fights.
Although this form of battle was not reserved for special occasions.
My big sister once told me that when a woman wanted something it was best to wait until the man was busy getting what he wanted, then he could not refuse.
This is probably why many men with multiple wives quit visiting some.
The one most wanted set the rules, also her children were treated better.
Truthfully all families were not this way, there are even now rumors of honorable men that would never act like this. And a few women with too much dignity to let loose also.
Mom and were married and pregnant when he was drafted.
My father was almost 6ft 4in tall, handsome with a great voice and during the years loved dancing and he and mom seemed to enjoy each other.
When he came home from war he was sober, his body was covered with scars and he brought a collection of deadly knives.
Because he was one of the biggest men he was placed as a MP his job was to drag soldiers out of bars and enforce military rules. He once said that his danger came from his own men, he slept holding his gun and alert because the man in the next bunk may try to kill him.
He was gentile in many ways, he had been taught to respect women, I did hear many years later that he knew a pollianissum girl while stationed on the island.
The women on the island wore grass skirts with no tops, he once used his money and gave the women shirts. They came back the next day with holes cut out of shirts to allow their bosom's to hang out.
Dad also talked about the starving children going through the garbage to find something to eat, he often gave them his food.
Dad was known because he as a traffic director denied General Patton the right of way, having a small altercation.
After dad came home he and mom buried my brother, he died just before I was born. He had a infection that made the skin behind his ears split and run puss, he was not a year old.
because of my parents religion they were often shunned by outsiders.
When my brother died they had to report the death and a mortition came to the town to retreve the body and embalm it.
My mother cried when describing his cold actions, he took the baby and tossed him into a suitcase, without a kind word leaving her distraught.
When I was born I seemed to have somewhat the same illness as my brother.
My sister was two years older than I, because we had a brother born between.
By the time I was five our family had grown I had a couple of brothers and more sisters.
By cbat
After my dad came home from the army, this was the first home I remember.
A small cabin with a bed room, kitchen and small living room.
We had an old wood stove that required constant care, smoking and hot if touched.
We used oil lamps with string wicks, and oil or gasoline in the base, they had a thin glass tops that protected the flame and regulated the light.
The rats would steal anything they could drag back to their nests.
Mom once allowed me to help raid a rat nest she found, The rats were large and carried anything shiny back to nests, we found the glass top to our lamp. I was amazed that a small rat could drag this to its nest in the wall with out breaking it.
We did not have water in the house so we fetched it from a nearby stream.
This was where we washed out our chamber pots and anything needing water.
If we bathed in a tub It was a round thing and water had to be heated over the wood stove used for cooking, all of us were washed in the same tub of water. I always wanted to be the first kid to bathe after dad, because there was more soap and the water was warmer and cleaner.
Dad was gone sometimes all week, coming home when he could, mom was left to handle most things.
One spring night mom came in huffing, carrying an almost empty water bucket, she had crossed the small bridge by our cabin to get water and been chased by a cougar, I was very impressed that she ran so fast while being thrilled there were cougars out there.
We had an outhouse and often used it as an excuse to get out of washing dishes or other choirs.
Mom always grew a garden. Dad hunted bringing home deer for eating and their antlers for decoration. We had chickens, ducks and rabbits.
Our town doctor lived up the hill a few blocks away, sometimes she came to the homes to deliver babies. She was called "Aunt Lydia", by everyone. Aunt Lydia delivered me then many of my children. She delivered babies, pulled teeth and stitched up wounds. She also attempted to teach the women a little about birth control, this was met with hostility from husbands.
One summer day, I was playing hide and seek with my sister and hid in our underground cellar, this was the storage for fruit, bottled and wrapped in old paper to preserve, we also stored potatoes, onions and dried fruit.
This day as I ran down the steps I knocked off a glass jar, it splattered and I fell cutting my arm. The kids yelled and mom came running, she grabbed a towel wrapping up my arm, then picked me up and ran up the hill to the midwifes. My arm had 20 stitches.
On one side of the road we had a wide deep creek, sometimes with a lot of water others almost none. When we went wandering we often saw human skulls washed up by the storms from Indian graves.
There were few cars in the town, many people had relatives in outlying towns so if a trip to town was planned the vehicle was borrowed.
Because of my health I occasionally ended up visiting a doctor from another town. Once when I fell breaking my collar bone, my grandfather told my parents to go to a second doctor because the first doctor that treated my arm was drunk. If my parents had not listened my arm would have grown wrong.
This small home was where I lived when "The Raid", came, I was three. The Raid was a time in our polygamist town that we were told about for years. The town was on the boarder of Arizona and Utah, polygamy being against the law men were put in jail for living it. When either state tried to catch them they just went over the state line. The two states worked together raiding both sides of the town at the same time thus avoiding escape. Families were divided and men were jailed.
Dad worked as a lumber jack, so was gone much of the time.
Occasionally he would come home arriving late in the night.
When he brought Ice cream, He would wake us up to eat it, because we had no way of keeping it cold.
The cabin was just three rooms, bedroom with an old mattress that got wet from holes in the roof if it rained, kitchen with old wood burning stove and the main room with a hot stove for heating the house.
Dad was great at building fires, it may have helped that he used gasoline, often the old heater would become so hot the sides glowed red. When I close my eyes I can see mom with back turned to the heater holding her dress up to warm her butt.
Life seemed simple then, our family unlike most had just one mom.
She was young and physically able to handle our few.
Each new thing was a wonder. We ocasionally traveled to a city a small distance away. My first taste of a "Pop-cicle", seemed like I was eating something from heaven.
I spent time trying to make pets out of small baby mice and baby birds having fallen from their nests. I had to hide the mice; mom for some reason did not like them.
This was just a couple years from my Dads accident, then every body changed.
| Author Notes | The first home I remember before dad had his accident. |
By cbat
Mom was terrified! She gathered my older sister and I- telling us to go to the neighbors and hide.
It was dark outside, dad and mom had been fighting, I did not see but we knew dad was in one of his fits.
Many times when mom got angry at one of us, and dad got involved, his frustration and anger set off his headaches causing him to lose control with pain and rage taking over; mom then attempting to calm him often was beaten.
This time he was angry enough to find his fathers bullwhip, cracking it and hollering "You Girls" he left the house following us down the dark road.
We ran fast reaching a home down the farm road, beating on the door and crying. We adored dad and understood that his rages were not him; but he was a monster when the headaches came.
Dad raged through the little town searching for us, we were taken out the back door's of home's to other home's each place hiding us. The older people doing their best to calm him, he did not hurt anyone but the fear was there.
By early morning mom collected us and we returned home, dads fit had passed and he was sorrowful, we hurt for him.
The next day, people from home arrived quickly packing us up; taking us back home. Mom told us we were moved because the kindly people of the town were planning to put dad away to protect us.
We were moved into a very old house with holes in the walls that were made of Bricks formed out of mud and straw called adobes. The yard was full of fascinating things, from old buildings to a windmill with a shallow tank lots of huge trees and strange holes in the ground.
Later we learned that this place had been a junk yard, the holes had been old wells filled in.
Fair view
We arrived in this enchanting little town to find the family just getting ready to leave, they were part of a family that was one of the leaders of our polygamist group having lived there for years.
The house was fantastic even to our parents. There were three floors and more bedrooms than we ever had, oddly built with one room having no windows but a door leading to another bedroom with windows. The top floor had a balcony where we could see the large garage with a tree house by it.
When needed we could get to the ground from the balcony undiscovered.
The main floor was huge with a light with crystals hanging down and a fireplace, next to a dining room then a pantry by the kitchen and lastly a door leading to the basement. We were terrified of the basement only going down if mom made us, I remember going down the creaky wood steps quickly putting the box down seeing dark corners and shadows, the light barely showing watching the stairs always afraid the light would go off or door close trapping me. Even times spent in the kitchen we fearfully watched the basement door as we did our choirs.
By the time we went to public school and made friends, we learned many things about our home. The stories told were that a large family lived there many years before, a happy family then one evening something came from the fireplace killing them all, we were told that to talk about this murder would bring the monster out to kill us also. It was rumored that a treasure was behind the fireplace. Another part of the story was that the family haunted the house, we believed because often the lights turned on and off without anyone there.
Fair view was our home for awhile, we went to schools with Gentiles and ran fields full of old buildings.
We spent happy hours in the orchards of apples, swinging with our feet skimming through the water on watering days. We spent nights in the old tree house, especially when mom was angry, we would sneak in and steal food to take back to the tree house.
My only big sister two years older than I was in high school, she was terrified having never gone to school away from our group. She was tall for her age, with long dark hair and quite striking. She had a very hard time with the gym classes because the students were required to shower as a group also the boys were aggressive and she was shy.
Our first free Halloween was in Fair view, the first year mom kept us at home and the older neighbors came over disappointed because they looked forward to us trick or treating.
The next year students wore costumes to school. I was just around ten but for some crazy reason mom decided to dress me as a character called "Daisy Mae" this required short shorts and a over the shoulder blouse, I had no breasts and daisy was famous for hers so mom put my sisters bra under the blouse and stuffed it with tissue my naturally curly blond hair finished off the costume. This was a most humiliating experience as the boys in upper classes tried to see if my bra was stuffed.
I met an old man in fair view his wife had just died and he was sad, he had a yard full of roses, he invited me to clean or do odd jobs for a few dollars each week. Even after we left he sent me a gift once. The small town we lived in was full of older people whom had taken our family in when we came to it just a year or so ago. We were moved here from our little polygamist town by my grandfather the leader of the group; this because they did not want the attention of the state trying to put dad away.
Mom carried the responsibility of family, dad was strong, sweet and able to work harder than most men, but unable to do jobs that paid well, he worked picking fruit and any job requiring strength and endurance. I believe dad worked out his frustration at being unable to express and be the person he was before the accident. Dad did receive a little money for his disability and service in the war. Mom did all she could to pay bills and feed us while giving birth to so many.
He had headaches because of his accident when I was 4 years old. His heart stopped beating, and his skull broke in half, when his heart started again he was in a coma for 5 months and had a steel plate to secure his skull, since this he has been plagued with headaches that made him loose control.
This accident was when he was a lumberjack, he was stronger and bigger than his fellow workers so he took on a tree needing cut down, it was on a hill; he unknowingly stood on a fallen log when the tree fell it hit the log throwing him 30 feet in the air he hit his head on a rock splitting his skull the top coming over the bottom half. They were far into the forest and his heart had stopped, they announced him dead and they waited for help. 30 minutes later his heart started beating.
| Author Notes | This part of my life left many good and not so good memories. I now feel a longing to go back to fair view to see if the house still stands. |
By cbat
Mom and Dad had finally left, shopping and visiting a neighbor,so we had time.
It always started the same way, somebody pissed me off and I was angry.
When I was angry my hair seemed to stand on end and my older and younger siblings were terrified, especially since Basheba my beloved little wiener dog always backed me up, growling and snapping at them.
My big sister would try to protect them from us.
In through the garage door they would all run screaming with us at their heels, as we came in they would go out the side door hollering as they headed to the tree house.
I and basheba would arrive just as the last kid was pulled up the ladder.
From there my sister would try to talk me into being nice, my brother would taunt me and little sis would cry.
Basheba and I would sit under the tree waiting.
Before long we were all bored so big sister would challenge the kids in the tree asking "who is brave enough to get into the basket and be lowered down?" the basket was sturdy and large sometimes used to raise picnics.
When no one volunteered my little sis always said "I will", She was the most frightened but seemed unable to resist volunteering.
So into the basket she would go, slowly sister and brother would lower it, I and basheba with an occasional growl waited below.
The lower the basket came the more little sis panicked, screaming and begging to be pulled back, just before we on the ground could reach her the tree people always pulled her back up.
After this we would always realize we were hungry or were warned by big sis mom would be home soon. I and Basheba allowed all to climb down and the game was over until next time.
One day I came home to find my adored Basheba gone, my heart broken mom told me she had been sent to live with a farmer I did not know.
| Author Notes | I often did not think through things told me, I would guess now somebody told my parents of our entertainment causing them to send away my pet. |
By cbat
As I started my shift in Miracle Manor, I was sent to the large kitchen.
This kitchen had four commercial refrigerator's, and food was delivered often.
A vast amount of bread could be seen on the counters.
Patents of all ages over 20, every color and every shape wandered through this kitchen all through the day.
Some of these patients were on special diets.
Reah was a bouncy gal. She weighed much more than considered good for her.
She was about 45 years old with curly brown hair also Google glasses and a very large bouncy bosom when she rushed around it had a life of its own.
She giggled and was almost always cheerful, she seemed to think as a child.
Her total occupation and love in life was food.
Often we were warned "watch Reah! She sneaks to the kitchen and steals food.
This particular morning as I walked in an orderly was chasing Reah, It was surprising how fast an overweight old lady could go.
She almost reached the stairs, shrieking as she moved.
The orderly caught her -No food in her hands.
Another working gal offered to help, they were pretty sure food has been stolen.
A search of pockets came up empty.
Oh! Oh! Something was sticking out of neck collar! Bread; a lot, stuffed into her bra! Seeing that she was caught she quickly started stuffing slices in her mouth.
She was escorted back to kitchen, bra emptied of baked goods and sent away.
She stomped up the stairs wailing and sniffling saying she was starving.
Just another day in Miracle Manor.
| Author Notes |
This time in my life was one of my first jobs.
I said I was 18 yrs old but when I started was 15. This job gave me unexpected experiences. |
By cbat
I walk into the office, She yells at me "Just go home and take care of your own damned kids! And we know you stop places, don't stop and look in shops along the way." Suddenly I am frantically packing and trying to soften all the children's bewilderment. Until this moment, I would have never believed I would be the one driving away. I actually never expected to hear that someone could feel that way about my children. Everything I did was impulse.
Shock! This is my fault, I had convinced myself of so many lies.
That she should love my children, because I loved hers. Loving a child, any child is for the most part, a parent allowing you to develop a intimate relationship with the child. At the same time, if someone does not want to accept or love anthers children no amount of pretending will change what they feel inside. If the father is the same for both women's children, almost anything can happen.
Our children had the same father, we had the same father and mother. She is younger than I, and I will always love her more than a man, unless it is one of our sons.
We gave birth to our children, sometimes just months apart. They grew up together, some almost as twins. Many of these children were inseparable, they defended each other, consoled each other and during the daily hell the adults put everyone through, were there for each other.
The illusion of multiple women raising and birthing babies in the same household with the father of all, being kind, benevolent and all wise is such a lie. The women being told that kids are better off with multiple mothers, perhaps this can work and still many tell themselves they have accomplished this. If I as a woman have allowed myself to believe this, then I must face the daily proof that I lack in many ways, for him to so plainly find others more desirable, and favor their children; how was I so blind?.
Yes this is nothing new anywhere, people get divorced, children have more than one home and parent.
Just do this in separate homes, and for those like me, do not have the children with a sister at the same time and with the same man.
This also being my fault, I listened to this guy, I approved him chasing my little sister, then I fought to maintain a dysfunctional family. I would never have thought any of us could be so violent.
She endured far more physical abuse than I, although I tried to stop much of it, she was the victim for years, I hung on thinking this was God's will, and I could stop the bad things, actually I did not want to give up part of our children. I was selfish, she was my best friend and we had far more fun together than with him, at least I did.
I see our children and cannot say I would give any of them up, I look back and wish there had been less suffering.
All I can tell anyone attempting to live this way is that I did because I believed for all of my childhood and almost 28 years of being married that it was God's will, do not ever look under the rug; Once you have really seen what you have swept under it, you cannot go back to believing there is nothing under there.
Also fixing people cannot be done, they must either leave a bad situation or fix themselves; sometimes we can help, but when we allow ourselves to believe that it is someone else causing our behavior we make it worse.
Second If you actually convince yourself that to get into a car driving away with part of your children, having given the older ones a choice, actually feeling that you are poison for your children, and that a father, and mother with monetary means will give them more. You could be wrong. Money is not everything.
In the end I stayed away for months, working for three dollars a day at a relatives home, with my husband taking my small children back.
Finally returning home when my sister came for me.
Most mothers would never leave their babies unless they were convinced that they are bad for them. I could never again judge another.
This was not my last time on the road again, but in the end finding peace of mind for all of us was leaving permatly, when my children were a little older.
And to now see those I love secure, without abuse, and happy makes me happy and a little less guilty.
People can change.
My daily joy is walking into my home, knowing no one is watching, or judging me. I close the door and my animal friends are happy to see me.
This is Heaven.
| Author Notes |
So much that I cannot seem to put together. The dark comes with the light.
Our retribution is our grandchildren living better lives, and helping those we can. |
By cbat
While my children were growing, all of my family increased; wives, children and animals. We often housed many people, and more than a few families stayed with us, for weeks at a time. Sometimes brothers or relatives with growing families came up to build fences, pour a reservoir or build another home and a huge building for the family company. After coming home from California where my husband attended dental school, we found some cheap properties.
We had an old barn with cows, horses, chickens and rabbits; also I occasionally found a goat or lamb to bring home. The kids enjoyed bottle feeding them, but when it came time to eat them, they did not enjoy it so much. Of course we always had cats and dogs. I have always been sad that I never owned a baby pig.
We owned other property's and everyone participated in "Bucking Hay."
There were times that we were in the field bucking hay at midnight because rain was coming, and to save the hay it had to be done immediately.
I often needed to feed a calf that would not suck from it's mom, with a bottle, the bottle being much larger than human baby bottles. Fortunately cows are not born with teeth, so the worst damage was a crazy roll in cow shit, the funny thing is that when a calf licks your face, it feels like sandpaper.
When working with a colt it was a different story, they are born with teeth, an affectionate nibble on your ear while working with them can hurt. What hurts more is if you accidentally get kicked in the jaw.
Sometimes our bull escaped in the night, all family that were big enough went out looking, we discovered a bull roar sounded like a bear, especially in the dark, I swear my hair stood on end.
One of our little daughters learned where babies came from by watching from the hayloft while a cow gave birth. Of course it was no secret as we birthed horses, cows, cats and dogs, let alone the mice and rabbits that seemed more capable of reproducing than we wanted.
I loved going out in the cold mornings and seeing the cats,sleeping on the cows for warmth.
Because we came from farming families, with my dad often hunting for venison, it was not unusual to see a cow, or deer hanging in the garage ready for a family meat processing day, we also processed our own chickens.
During one year, we had perhaps three weeks we were not housing and cooking for approximately fifty people, with sometimes ten children under 10 years old. We did not have disposable diapers, so often I was changing four babies, then going into the kitchen to cook, it seemed that I was constantly scrubbing my hands, the smell seemed to be stuck in my head.
I loved it when we splurged and purchased food already prepared, home-made meant I was home making it. I learned how to make cheese, although when the boys milked the cows I sometimes wondered if milk was green not white. We ground our own wheat, for bread, grew gardens and bottled fruit and vegetables. When we put up a large green house we were very proud until our boys drove the tractor through it.
Horses were a pleasure and one of my favorite ways of escaping the crazy home occasionally. Although many mornings I found myself chasing horses that had escaped down the road before taking kids to school, in these days I was dressed in a long dress (it is so much easier to chase something wearing pants, me not the animal.)
We owned two horses, and at one time a Shetland pony; this one was barn sour and no matter where the rider was headed, always ended back at the barn, quicker than anyone thought possible.
Dipsy was a medium size horse and a complete pleasure to ride, I preferred to have just the two of us on our rides, no one else dictated where we went or how fast. I carried an apple in my pocket, while sitting on Dipsy atop the hill over the city, I would pull the apple out taking a bite; instantly her head would jerk around and she refused to move until I gave her the apple. When we arrived back at the barn, after I removed her saddle, she gave me very little time, before hitting me in the side with her head, reminding me she needed another treat.
Dolly was a little higher strung, and had a problem getting spooked and being unpredictable. As a friend she was great but I was cautioned about riding her.
While my boys were about 11 or 12 we had a young relative come to live with us, his name was Carl and he was homeless. He decided that Dolly should be his horse, he rode her a lot and I think he was the least trained of the boy or horse.
One ride on Dolly ended in her running over the kids pet sheep, breaking the sheep's leg, the kids were so attached to the sheep named "Mary Ann," that their father decided to see if he could save her, he bound and fixed the leg; we ate her a couple years later.
Gradually as I became more confident about riding I decided to ride Dolly, she knew me and as with all animals loved me. Carl was unhappy about me riding her, but offered to saddle her up for me. I thanked him; going out after he was done and mounted her, as my weight hit the saddle she immediately shot up into the air coming down on her side rolling me off, then standing by my head nuzzling me to see if I was alright, I reassured her and climbed back into the saddle, instantly she again shot up landing and rolling on me, then standing by me she was shaking a lot. By then I was badly bruised and worried about her, I hobbled to the house to find Carl standing by the window watching. He kindly offered to unsaddle Dolly for me and went to the barn where he fiddled with her saddle and then rode her.
I was in a lot of pain and it took me awhile before I realized Carl had sabotaged dolly and I. Earlier when I attempted to have Carl teach me about riding he had purposely given me opposite moves to direct the horse. I realized he most likely put something under Dolly's saddle causing her pain so she jumped straight up. Dolly's normal reaction was to run jumping the fence and avoiding capture.
It was not too long before Carl left moving into another family of his choice. He was extremely smart and talented, he played the piano beautifully. He had developed a technique of grooming a family, with charm and favors until he came to the point where the family he lived with realized he was dishonest and cruel, then he would announce he was leaving. I more than once had to collect him from a store where he shoplifted, this seemed to be something he did for the challenge because he had money in his pocket.
Looking back I sometimes wonder how we changed from farmers to Doctors, nurses and dentists along with many other professional titles.
I often felt that although my (now X) husband became a Dentist he would always be a "damn" farmer at heart. Not to insult farmers!
| Author Notes | As the religion I grew up in became more cult, many young people from my hometown were becoming homeless, the young men especially, were told to leave, we called them "The Lost Boys." People took them in, giving them homes, jobs and encouraging them to get educated, but many took advantage of kind people trying to help them. This need of young people is still there, everyday we find another. |
By cbat
Hurry! "Connell, It will die if we can't get it out before the acid kills it".
Connell, my little brother, does his best, I am squeamish and do not believe in killing things and so My trusty little brother being the "Boy" does the dirty job.
This happens only if we were attempting to save a baby rabbit or bird that the "dang rattler" just swallowed.
Somewhere we were told that when a snake swallows the bird alive, it is the stomach acid that kills the animal. We always thought we could save this one.
We usually managed to kill the snake, cut it open and even get a still breathing unfortunate creature out. But they always died while we watched and suffered with them.
Connell was just one year younger than I, we did everything together.
When we became really bored we even exchanged clothing.
I still think of literally walking-in his lace up rough shoes.
I enjoyed wearing boy clothes more than he liked wearing my flimsy dress and slippery shoes. He looked so funny wearing them that we all got a good laugh.
My brothers and sisters old enough roamed the mountains and open fields with us.
Sometimes we found an old corral with the narrow chute that allowed the cowboy to mount the horse before the bucking started.
Our version of wild horse riding was to herd a young cow into the chute, gingerly climb on, let the gate open and fall off. The one hanging on longest was the champion.
We searched diligently for lizard's, Horny toads, as we called them, and trianchulas. We tried many times to domesticate wild baby rabbits but they seemed unable to live in captivity.
If we decided to "go fishing" then Con would always take mercy on me and put the worm on our home-made fishing stick. Sadly fish were never caught, probably because there were no fish in the water tank we fished from, sometimes even the water was missing.
We were a growing gang of kids, every year another added.
Our father was dealing with menial jobs between bouts of headaches that made him insane.
Our mother was constantly pregnant, while trying to handle bills and dads fits along with our wild bunch.
Our town had just installed telephones, and mom could get stuck on the phone talking to Mr's Bradshaw for hours.
-
When a few moms gathered to make a quilt we were ecstatic, this gave us hours of unattended freedom, the secret was to occasionally check in asking for something-showing mom we were still there.
Another advantage to mom "putting on a Quilt", was that we could hide under the quilt where the ladies sat around it. The things we heard were shocking and confusing.
One of my favorite things was chasing down a wild baby kitten, suffering scratched arms and face while struggling to carefully hold the captive until it calmed down and stopped hissing, then spending the time it took to make him tame. When he finally began purring it was awesome.
Of course by the time I grew up we realized the problem with wild animals was that they could also give kids "Ringworm" This possibility had always made mom's hair stand on end.
We were not soft sweet children, we were tough and often mean, although some were shy and more gentle. We had huge battles, hurting and bruising each other, our competitions were brutal but the rewards and respect achieved made us proud. We always protected ours from outsiders, we were known in the neighborhood as the meanest and the leaders.
We listened to stories about Indian customs, then devised our own.
We had an arbor with the top covered in grape vines, it was a little dark and long from one end to the other. We positioned ourselves on either side. The contestant needed to reach the end of the tunnel, the positioned ones did everything possible using fingernails only to scratch exposed parts of the runner. The contestant with the most scratches and blood drawn was the winner.
We also discovered that grape vines when dried and dead were hollow, if we lit one end we could smoke them, not an unpleasant thing.
We made tents of tumble weeds or tree branches, if we were not in the top of the trees we were jumping from the roof of our homes.
One day we were playing in the fields and were thrilled to find a large circular tube hut, we crawled in following through it, until we came face to face with a very angry badger, backing up with others behind can be done very fast if something hissing with large teeth is coming at you.
Running home everyone yelling about the monster attacking, got dads attention, we all followed at a safe distance, as dad with his gun advanced, shooting the poor badger that was minding its own business.
When it rained hard it was great fun to splash and collect things in the puddles, we found small little fish looking like sting rays, also mud puppies long dark and slimy.
There were always frogs, I collected them I had Tiny poly-wogs to a huge white toad, these I kept and protected feeding them what I learned they liked. One week after my dad took me and another sibling with him on the fence line I came home to find my beautiful frogs all dead.
Horny toads (Horned toads?) Were one of my favorite things they were round bumpy with tiny little legs, and cute faces. I adopted and let go many over the years.
Lizard's were harder to catch but it was consoling to know that if a tail was lost, it would grow back.
If we became bored with trees and rooftops or fields we could always go mountain climbing or up the narrows.
My mom would tell me of her time here as a child when a black panther lived up in the canyon, also waterfalls that one could swim in.
It was not unusual to see "Bob-Cats", another of my favorite.
As my brothers got older they also discovered cave climbing.
My little home town was full of undiscovered treasures from the Indian remains washed up during hard rainstorms to the Pottery in lost caves. Even bottomless ponds.
Not too far away were sand dunes, huge and so fun. Sometimes we found sand crickets-they were large with shiny heads and bodies, extremely ugly.
We had rock formations that looked like a crazy person carved them, one was named "Molly's nipple".
This was an ideal place for kids to grow up in, almost all of us survived.
Sadly as the population of man grows, the natural wonders and creatures are pushed back until many are destroyed or become extinct.
I think of all these things available to me as a child and feel great loss.
My children and grand children may never see such as a Sand Cricket.
| Author Notes | To think of this little home town between Utah and Arizona I long to be a child running free. Many things we did as children were dangerous, we had to be tough to survive. As each generation grows the dangers change. stories such as this are written because they were reality. |
By cbat
Waking up I hear a loud weird screech, it sounded like my little puppy named Gizzmo.
I had just come from a trip, where I had purchased a rag doll, with long brown yarn hair. The doll was for a grand child, and was much bigger than Gizzmo. I left it sitting on my couch and went to bed.
Hearing his strange scream I went into the living room to find him trying to get out the dog door, the rag doll was dragging behind him and could not go through the opening in the door.
I got a grip on him and tried to see where he got tangled up in the dolls hair, him whining and struggling the whole time, first it looked like a rather long pink elastic had wound around the hair, I was horrified when I realized that it was his appendage, and he had been humping the dolls head.
He was in a lot of pain and I did not seem to be able to unwind things, finally I carefully cut the dolls hair as close as possible to his apparatus; with this big doll separated from the hair trapping him, he raced out the dog door howling, I could not catch or comfort him.
I watched him and waited until he finally came inside, a little sheepish but seeming to have regained his parts as his excitement waned, and he was not in pain.
He was pure white, he loved to travel with me and if I let his hair grow it would get to his toes, silky and long.
He had no nose and every time my daughters entered my home I would hear a scream, then yelling "He sneezed on my foot!."
I found him in California and until my twin Gran-children were about four, I could talk them into believing that he was an alien; the movie "Stitch" had just become popular, and especially when he grinned, he looked just like that. We even named him "Stitch," first.
I also adopted a calico cat, she was named "Phantom," because she liked to sneak up on any bird in the five trees in my yard and kill them. Phantom never ate the birds but dropped them into a hole on the roof of my shed, I found dead birds stacked there.
I found few birds around my home because she so enjoyed this.
Phantom the cat decided that Gizzmo the dog was her mate and he spent the days trying to pull his favorite blanket out from under her, he barely tolerated her cuddling him, and when he went to the vet she waited for him on the front step.
He was with me until he was about 80 dog years old. At this time he began peeing all over my home and seemed to be feeling his age.
By this time I decided he did not need to be in pain, so I held him while a vet put him to sleep. It was actually beautiful to me, he was happy and positive I loved him, never to suffer the discomfort unwanted abandoned creatures endure.
I have always felt that as a human, if I was in pain and did not want to go on in a bad condition; I should have the right to choose not to.
I will never allow an animal I love to suffer.
| Author Notes | My animals have always helped me survive this sometimes unpleasant world, as a child I collected many, including a bat that stayed three days with me. |
By cbat
I woke with a god awful headache, the more frightening thing was because I had no idea how I came to be in this bed, and less of how most of my clothing had disappeared. When my sister came in I was embarrassed and relieved. I was a mother and too old to be so confused or naked, but here at least my sister would be discrete. When more of my sisters came over, they told me what I didn't remember.
I had traveled hundreds of miles to spend time with my family in our hometown.
My last memory was that evening. A few sisters and sister in laws were sitting around a campfire up in the canyon, a stream running close by. When some one passed the rum bottle to me, I took a couple large swallows, having never been much of a drinker it went straight to my head, and tasted extremely bad. After the drink, I have no memory, but my sisters said I was very funny. According to them we had a great time. I threw-up on my sister in laws shoe, she cried, then tried a pony back ride on another sister, telling her, that aside from her husband; our little brother 6 ft 4 in tall, "You are the best ride I'd ever had." We partied into the night and someone took me home and put me to bed.
This was in the canyon where we grew up, anyone watching had such a story to tell. Our little band was always fascinating to town folk, most sisters were beautiful and we were all unpredictable, also very loud.
During our childhood we were slow to learn about drinking alcohol, our parents for the most part did not drink. Years later mom confessed she avoided wine because she loved it. Dad was deliberately kept from such evil, especially after his accident, because even without drinking he was to big to handle, he had thrown more than one man when they tried to control him.
As the years passed and we all experienced bad and sometimes good things, the hometown became available to outsiders and we traveled out of town more. We were slow in realizing the use of alcohol, but many welcomed it.
| Author Notes |
My sister still laughs when she talks of that night.
She has lived only in our hometown, she married the same man another sister did as a second wife, she also had over ten children. She never learned to drive, and now with her husband they are just breaking free of this cult. |
By cbat
She was one of the middle children, beautiful and shorter than most, reddish brown hair, beautiful face.
While waiting to be married she was an avid reader, "Barbara Cartland," a favorite author then, sometimes gave naive little girls the idea that a big tough man could be romantic, many girls lost themselves in these stories.
When that man was violent and abusive it was a shock.
Each young girl was taught that she must be pure above all, no one even mom told us that a man may beat us up. Let alone that some younger men would actually rape them, This happening more than once.
When she finally reached her breaking point, She was left with eleven children practically on the side walk.
Her husband appointed by the priesthood was told to drop her and children off in a small town near by.
Always the husbands of errant wives were told, if you do as told you will be blessed with more wives, if not you are done.
Gradually as the priesthood shrunk, with less men on the council the rules changed, less young men were even given wives.
Older men seemed to use daughters as currency, exchanging theirs for another.
Young men waited and did not ever qualify for wives.
Young women were given to older men, many while still children.
His mother actually came to her home telling her to get out of bed and her duty, at a time when she was ill.
This little sister was horribly mistreated by our town, they verbally abused her at every turn.
Her children were also treated badly.
She became reluctant to answer her door even to sisters.
Finally she realized she must leave, her youngest still a baby.
When her children visited their father he did everything possible to make them hate her.
She was talented in many ways, great with animals and learning the secrets of herbal medicine.
Also as with most of my sisters she was the best of cooks, she could make cakes as well; This was something I could never cook, my cake always looked like the leaning tower.
Eventually she found an Indian man whom has become her soul mate.
Together they exhaled in growing beautiful flowers, rescuing animals and the best cooking.
She works in hospitals and strives to feed or give her health remedies to anyone that comes to her door.
She collects everything history, and has much information on past family.
She has never known the luxury of even enough money to meet bills, and never asked for handouts.
My favorite tag for her is her story telling; she could tell stories that fascinated my children and has continued through the years, telling her stories so well that it was hard to tell what is reality and what not, many times so realistic that we question if she knows. Her life was never easy, she was enchanting and easy for men to desire. She met an older Indian man originating from Hawaii spending 17 years with him. Linnan died January 2019, from pancreatic cancer I had not seen her for years we talked but finally this last summer she stayed a few nights, she came up because her significant other was having feet problems. She lost one daughter in a car accident and was suffering with another whom was jailed leaving 2 small children depending on others to care for them. The agraving thing about life is the search for truth each one has a different story. Nan told beautiful stories with herself being many different people she was memorizing and I personally want to believe she often was influenced by past lives, truly a storyteller. For the years 20 or more working two jobs often saying she would work until she died. She helped anyone and lived in a trailer home that was so old it was sinking, she was a collector and it looked like an antique shop, she kept history and did homeopathy. Her third time to visit me was November 2018 she had a stomach problem a,d finally let our sister take her in to the doctor she did washing for a hospital for many years but never had health insurance. From the last time she was with me until she died She looked as though her body was liquidating and she became a skeleton, the difference in 3 weeks was horrible this disease was fast and vicious, her one vice as I see it was she smoked and I'm sure it was the biggest factor. I miss her laughter and beautiful face and will be forever appreciation the care our little sister helping to preserve her dignity. After she died many questions come up, life is often nothing like we think is going on. Her visits to me indicated she did not want to be around her man, I did not get the message, after she died there were conflicting stories. Our sister with her companion stayed with her until she died, believing that her man had finished her life, she was in agony and he was constantly by her side even in bed during her death, she wanted me to hold her and lye by her but he would not move or let us alone, when she lost control of body functions he loudly criticized and drew attention to her. I have no idea of where truth and real facts lie but to see her pain was something that I feel I may not be able to refuse helping it end,
| Author Notes |
Here we go again, another sister-another story.
I also have four brothers, It is harder telling their stories another I spent less time with them. |
By cbat
The littlest sister;
She was my baby sis, The last of the ten girls. Tall with strawberry red hair, she looked at times like the actress "Anna Nichole."
She like the rest of my sisters was full of fun, when three or four of us got together we could entertain anyone, nothing was off limits.
As sisters we often carried on multiple conversations at once, each jumping from one to the other without warning, we never needed to explain to each other, the other people involved especially the male gender were quickly lost.
She was also married by instruction of our "Leaders", a first wife.
She had an active or "hot" relationship as she described it.
She and Freddie spent a lot of the time "getting to know each other."
She had four children, and seemed to love him.
When the day came that he brought home wife number two she knew it was coming, and thought she could handle it.
She tried for awhile as so many do. He tells her she is sexy and the new one would never stir him the way she does.
She comes home unexpectedly and he is telling and showing this second wife the same things; more than once, she finds them "getting to know each other," in the kitchen, in the bedroom and anywhere possible.
The next step usually meant number one and number two, using verbal assaults, with the stupid man running between trying to save his ass, telling more lies to both.
Third step usually physical attacks along with women revealing things man boy said during play. Hair pulling, screaming, slapping and no one really sure of where kids are. Often the children being mistreated as well.
Usually all not even sure of who slapped who. Unless the husband did the slapping, this was often the case.
In her case the pregnancy of the second wife became enough, I think she tried a little longer considering separate homes.
Her baby girl was small, four when she walked out with kids in tow.
She found a trailer home, job and quite a few boyfriends.
The boyfriend she was proudest of was the beautiful black one, this one she brought back to our home town to visit, parading him around.
I can't say I blamed her, this town had only racist people, being taught that the black people were dammed, in some bible thing they were the ones that sat on the fence, refusing to take sides, (Between good and evil? I don't know!.)
She was there for another sister when she left, also there for her when she died.
At one time she was on a talk show, she said then that she was not allowed to say positive things about her x-husband, the audience wanted the shocking stories only.
She moved with her children a few times, always finding boyfriends, fishnet stockings and the shortest skirts ever. It did not matter what shape she was in, she invited and revelled in man's attention; her breasts were the bait and she caught a It lot of fish. Much of the time she found herself in places that if sober she would never have gone.
I do know that she tried not to expose her children to many of her habits. Although they had a celebration when her daughter lost her virginity.
Many times she did not have enough to feed her kids, what she did to get money then I can only guess at. All the sisters that could helped.
She was highly intelligent and could accomplish anything she put her mind to. But her trials always seemed to drag her down.
Our goal as big sister's it seemed, was to get her away from pool rooms and bars,
Her goal was to go to all of them, stretched over the pool table as she took a shot, there was never a question as to if she had underwear on.
Another favorite pastime for her was to call big sisters at three or four in the mornings, high on love, and sexual tales. I know now that she was high also on marijuana or other stronger things.
Most of her children did great things, her only boy and youngest daughter went to the army, another girl was in business, and one had a few pregnancies, resulting in grandchildren. When this young mom was in trouble with the father in jail, my sister did everything to care for her small grand children. She fought to keep them with the courts also.
Many times she seemed to get ahead, breaking the sex obsession, but then back to her old stomping grounds she went.
Occasionally during these years she talked of being raped by someone living near her, others times she talked of wealthy men wanting to take care of them.
The last time I received the night call from her was a few years back, same sex stories, I am ashamed to say I could hear no more.
Some of us talked and realized to judge her or try to change her was wrong.
We were all getting older and she needed to decide her own life style.
When she called asking for money I finally had to stop giving, my finances were ok but not great and she often found more than one sister to get monetary help from.
I do keep track of her as much as I can, without direct contact.
Her son married and flew her to Hawaii, she was excited. So elated that he wanted her there.
I learned over the years to be wary of all stories, so many girls or boys are sexually abused. Many times I have seen it happen, and the pain, shame and guilt is shared by family and victims.
Sadly; I also have seen many times when the assault is formed by individual people needing attention, and telling untruths.
Sometimes adults pressure others into telling stories formed by someone else, or children hearing others details repeat them as their own.
Many women have left this damaging life, encouraged to tell their tragic stories. Then are used by the media or others from the same group telling false stories, thinking money may come their way.
Sexual abuse is such a delicate horrible thing, it can wound so deeply and when the lie is passed for truth, it can become so real that those repeating it believe it themselves.
The ones actually telling the truth are damaged even more.
| Author Notes |
I am not following the ages of sisters, my stories come back in scattered ways.
In the media and too many books written by polygamist women the trial some men also go through is edited out, if the woman needs the publishing to survive she is forced to take out what the publisher does not want in the story. |
By cbat
When I talked with my mom long after I was grown and had a few children of my own she explained, shaking her head and crying.
This little sister number ten child for mom, she was in second grade.
Mom noticed that she seemed unsettled and was checking windows and doors before going to bed.
When mom questioned her an ugly story came out.
While this child was in school, older children were allowed to tutor younger classes. The principal was father to a "special child", so was determined to give such children every chance to feel normal.
My little sister and a few other small girls were given a "special child" to be tutored by. When he came to the classroom, he was allowed to take the child to another room to tutor.
No one realized he was taking them to the basement, removing their panties and abusing them. They later told of running, helping to hide each other.
Mom was unsure of the extent of the abuse so asked sis to describe what the bad boy had done, "He peed in my dinky", her description.
The boy was removed, and life went on.
My little sis never received counseling and showed problems from this.
She came to stay with me and family a few times, She was 12 when we realized she often became infatuated with boys and men staying with us.
Often she needed to be sent to another room to control her actions.
She was given by parents to our religious leader to be married, I am not sure how old she was.
This man already had two wives. She had never met this stupid man until marriage. After her marriage he told her that because of her abuse in second grade he was afraid she may give him a sexual disease.
Of course this did not stop him from using her, she described the times he did "I just shut my eye's and I in my mind and went somewhere else".
As the years went by, she told of his abuse of her and her children. When angry at a child he would hold the child under running water.
Also the other women in the family treated her and children badly.
Many times she came to one of her sisters telling about her pain, she also at least once or twice tried to kill herself.
As her sisters we tried each time to help her, many times we almost did.
Each time we were left to take the brunt, she backed out accusing us of telling lies and refusing to be helped.
She would stay with us at times, bringing her children.
We would then help and let her earn money.
The last time she asked me for help, I was separated from my husband and she wanted to move in with me bringing her eight children.
I was living in a house owned by my husband. I was having difficulties providing for my children and could not do this; also while asking for money and help she was telling lies about my family trying to gain approval from her husband.
Now, after being on television, telling her story, full of half truths. She has gained support and receiving the help she should have received as a child, she seems to have found a better life.
| Author Notes | I dearly love this little sister, I stay away from her because she can cause so much damage. I am happy to see her finally free. |
By cbat
She is angry, frightened, feeling trapped. She looks into my eyes; I hear her voice in my mind, pleading "Don't let Thomas watch, Don't you watch. She is being washed and dressed by the nurses; he is standing over her, touching and looking. I cannot leave her helpless and alone with her future killer.
My baby sister, Dale, thirty two years old, mother of eight little children, she had just lost the only baby made of love. Lying in the hospital bed, she was unable to speak or move her limbs, but her eyes her showed fear and humiliation. When she was in control she had learned to keep him away. She was only waiting for the final papers to her divorce. He was still legally her husband, and had the right to decide her and her children's fate.
She was just past fifteen years old when mom and dad turned her into the priesthood, telling her that she would marry Thomas (no body's catch). She obeyed, revealing nothing of her hell until the last year. Even then we only knew because of her writings, read after she died.
She wrote of his twisted sexual habits that made her scrub herself with a tooth brush, mouth and body until they bled. Many times she had no food for her children. Thomas's father would indicate that if she "satisfied" her husband he would provide food for her babies. One baby died before birth, another was born mentally challenged caused by lack of nutrition. She was not allowed birth control, and had never being educated about sex, so she gave birth to one child after another until her body was so depleted she could hardly walk.
When her youngest was four, she finally took her children
Out of the polygamist town, moving into a two bedroom trailer with her sister having four children of her own. She then put her children in school and filed for divorce.
With so many in such a small home, life was difficult. She found a job and began her fight.
She was smiling again. The kids were doing better in school, as they became secure. For the first time in her life Dale felt like a beautiful person. Asked out by many, she finally said yes to one man. She was so innocent, never thinking the relationship would go further than a date, after a few dates they thought they were in love. She experience's love and sex together, but when she realized she was pregnant, he was overwhelmed with the responsibility of her large family. She was also reluctant to commit so they separated.
Still she thought of him and glowed. Although frightened, she wanted this baby. Her youngest was five, and her children were also excited about a new baby.
Standing in a court room, two months pregnant with her father by her side, she fought for her children. Their father used the unborn child as leverage to try to take them.
Before strangers this shy quiet young mother told about times her children went hungry, how the town treated them, and what she had achieved, telling them this baby was made in love and she would not give any of her children up. The court granted her all.
Christmas was close; they were so happy, shopping for small things for each other. The future for them was bright; they were almost free.
Suddenly she slipped and fell down, she was still unconscious when the paramedics came, because she hit her head as she fell.
Later we were told that she lost her baby boy immediately, due to embryo fluid in her blood stream, she was in a coma. The doctors told us she may not come out of the coma. We could not accept this, we took turns at her bed side.
We had to fight for her children. Thomas was using her condition to take them. He told them to pray she died, because she was bad and would go to hell.
When she was stabilized, Thomas moved her to a rest home, operated by the people in the group.
She had nine sister's so we tried to always have one of us close to her.
While I was with her I heard an older woman in the same room saying, "Why don't you let her die?" Dale was put on an old loud respirator with a tube through her throat.
We decide to take her home caring for her ourselves, we felt we must watch her at all times. The nursing people were abusive; a nurse formally working at this place told us things that made us uneasy. Dale was not being washed properly, her feet smelled and when we tried to clean her they tried to make us leave.
I was certain that her husband and family were causing this hostility.
Two of us went to see her, we were leaving town for a wedding, We told her "When we came back we are taking you home". Standing by her bed crying, saying "We love you", unexpectedly she formed the words "I love you".
It was impossible to express the joy of that moment, knowing that with care she would recover, our faith was strong.
We left her big sister to keep her company.
Later we were told that the nurse refused to let this sister stay with her, sending her away.
The next day in the middle of the wedding; a phone call, telling us Dale was dead. Such shock and disbelief.
The days after were a nightmare. Her husband was in control. "It is the law", we heard again. We were not allowed to go to the funeral in the town, we are "Gentiles". We had a small reception at the mortuary. She was to be buried in the town cemetery, owned by the religion.
We watched as people stood over her casket, talking about how evil she was, seeing her baby girl holding her arms out screaming for someone she knew, being held back by her hateful grandmother, Saying "No they are bad".
When this babies mom went to the hospital she asked her aunt "If mommy dies, can I please live with you?".
We were not allowed to comfort the children, they were immediately taken to a home where a known child molester lived. All pictures of their mom were taken away.
We were always told that when someone died they were in a better place and happier there.
Such a lie, Dale would never have left her children in this place and would never have been happy there.
We were not given a reason for her death. I would think the old respirator had something to do with it.
The polygamist group taught that in god's name it was not wrong to encourage an errant wife to take her own life, some providing drugs for them to do so. They preached this was to save their souls.
Thomas spent his life trying to please, he always believed that he had tainted blood from his mom, so was not quite as good as many siblings. Always feeling inadequate he did anything to please his father, and believed if he wanted more wives he must obey.
In my heart I am certain Dale was murdered, someone was aware we were taking her home, with only one night she should have survived.
As I write this I have to ask, "Where the Hell was God?.
| Author Notes |
The children have since grown up, some having children.
Some having left this perveted religion. Many cast out. |
By cbat
As I grew from a small child to a young woman, there was never really a question of who or even if I would marry.
I was raised believing that God would decide this.
My grandfather would tell me who and when. I knew that what he advised I would do, no matter how my personal self felt.
This was ex actually what I did, just after I turned 18, grandpa showed up at my workplace hundreds of miles away from home, telling me it was God's will that I marry, and whom I was to marry.
I had never met this young man, and was startled to think he was to be my husband.
Truthfully I had been moaning for years to myself and anyone listening that I would end up married to a old man with multiple wives.
Yes a polygamist, Fundamentalist or a Mormon following teachings of Joseph Smith.
My grandfather and great grandfather being bodyguards for Joseph Smith, my mother also having been taught this way, it was ingrained into me as well.
By now our group was called "Jack Mormons," we were taught we needed to live polygamy to live "Celestial marriage" in heaven.
I grew up in a small town called "Short Creek," on the boarders of Utah and Arizona.
My grandfather was the leader of this community . He was well loved, he was a tiny stooped man with piercing eyes and bent crooked fingers.
He was kind to me and loved my father, although dad lost his actual father earlier.
This cute old man, had many wives; some old and some just older than I.
These women were treated as though they were princesses, they had the best of clothing and lived an enchanted life, other than the fact they shared a husband, too old to give them children or perhaps other things. Every where these beautiful women went they were treated like royalty.
Of course at the time I thought I understood the gossip of the town which was that Gran-pa had forgiven a couple of these beautiful young wives for adultery. These girls taught sewing, 4 H, and went around the town spreading good will, with his position money was not a problem to them and they spent freely.
Grandfather also owned a huge beautiful home in Salt Lake and often part of his family were there.
These women helped when the time came for me to make a wedding dress, they assisted making it.
What surprised me more about getting married was that the young man agreed, He had not seen me, so this was probably why he said yes.
Our first meeting was in my parents rundown home, with many brothers and sisters watching, most were curious and mom's excitement made them more so.
He had two mothers but only his father came to our home.
My family had only one mother, she was the biological mom to all 15 children, ten girls and five brothers.
I had been sick much of the time since born, I had a big space in my teeth, no chin and could never go cross-eyed like my siblings because my eyes were not lined up correct ally. I was the plain, and later told the ugly one.
When this young man looked at my family I was the last one he would have chosen. Five years later I came to realize he had been drawn to my little red headed sister.
I was nervous and excited, I was marrying a young man that all the girls wanted, He was from Salt Lake and going to school to become a Dentist, also he was considered to be wealthy; most of all he was beautiful from a distance. The first time I saw him was in church, I never imagined I would know him, let alone marry him. I once said "If he becomes a Dentist, I will never open my big ugly mouth to him!"
My mom was thrilled by this choice of husband simply because years before a self-righteous uncle told her that this family would have nothing to do with ours because they were better than us.
On this day his father took over introducing us, then we were allowed to go for a short ride alone, I apologized to him for me, and told him I had a disease called "Lymphadema," this made my legs and feet become swollen and even more ugly. He was kind and did not show repulsion toward me.
Then we met his large family, they did not feel I was near to being good enough for him.
I Agreed, I said yes to marrying him, feeling that at least in marrying into polygamy he would be able to have wives much more attractive than I, if it had just been the two of us, I would never make any man put up with me as their only mate.
This young man was totally under his father's control, he telling me that I was to treat his father as though he was God.
I was surprised that the young guy acted like he liked me.
The next time I saw him was on my wedding day, when grandfather Married us. The ring he put on my finger was picked and paid for by his father.
My wedding was with a very small amount of people, and to be kept sort of a secret.
We lift town immediately after returning to Salt Lake so he could "attend school."
We would stay with his father's step mother, in a large beautiful home, she was a strange controlling person.
On the ride taking seven hours, we were stopped in a small town receiving a ticket for speeding, the judge let him off because he told him we were just married. On this first trip he told me he loved me, and that I must sit as close to him as possible. I didn't believe he was even close to loving me but thought it was nice of him to say it.
We arrived at the house, It was empty because his father had arranged for his mom to be gone for a couple of days, the house was locked and he had to get in through a window, then I slid down a long steep set of stairs on my butt, I was so embarrassed.
That first night I was in a daze, I had controlled every thing I did since I was 15. He seemed to know everything and was very confident.
Everything that followed was a shock and pain full, what I thought I knew was so wrong.
During the time we lived there, we learned to hide our television when gone, also we played strange games when she was gone.
At breakfast in the mornings we were treated to the sound of aunt Mary having an enema in the bathroom close by, she did not have her hearing aids on so was unaware of this.
After being married five years and learning to trust someone, things changed.
During this time my husband had convinced me to try singing, This I never did but he said my voice was beautiful so I tried.
Then he received with my help-a second wife, I had three children in these five years.
He soon told her that in his words "kissing me was like kissing a pile of rocks," He said I could not sing and was tone deaf. He told her he had never felt passion for me just pity.
To be fair he also told her Un-truths, and in the long run she suffered much more than I.
He came from a family that believed in herbs, so when married I was treated to strange concoctions, and tried to cook with stone ground wheat flour, honey instead of sugar or brown sugar and oil instead of shortening.
My first lemon pie was so hideous I hid it in the freezer for three months then threw it over the fence.
Before I married I learned to cook from my mother, white flour, white sugar and everything she cooked was worthy of a bakery's product, her bread, canning and cleaning had been top notch.
The "Group" had "Young married meetings." And at a meeting I had never heard of "Fireside" he would set up for these, when we attended I watched the unmarried gals look longingly at him, each knowing in their hearts he deserved better than me.
I fell in love with him because he was kind and did not make me feel disgusting, he made me feel beautiful and desirable; although he was cruel about my family (except the little redheaded sis).
When a person has been born into this religion with father and grandfather's immersed in it, this is ingrained into their soul's and few can comprehend living another way.
The women can be as determined as the men to live this way, so many are lonely and trying to work with the other women married to the same man at the same time, many fail. They usually have children the same ages and most are unable to treat the children equal.
Wives become bitter enemies of their competition and their offspring.
Some of this is due to the attitude of the men, many are truly " pigs." Feeling that no woman is worth giving up polygamy for, and if they have to give up a wife and her offspring they will be rewarded by more of both, if a woman dies in childbirth there are plenty more where they came from.
If a woman is to be accepted she must never practice any kind of birth control, and give up the right to decide the future of children, even what the children are named.
When the men such as this give preference it depends on the wives attributes, usually meaning an unattractive wife will be forever shadowed by her fairest sister (literally) with children being treated accordingly.
I have to also admit that there is nothing meaner than an angry woman, in small words and deed's they can cut deeper than a knife.
My husband used to say our "tongue's were sharper than sword's."
Does this sound like a story in a book with the word Holy in it? (Bible, Leah and Rachael?).
One of my favorite jokes was I was the Leah to my sisters Rachael.
This also being as much my doing as anyone's.
| Author Notes |
This chapter was originally written years ago, many things I look at now make me wonder why I spent so many years in a daze.
Hindsight is always easy and Looking back I am not sorry for the children I loved and was mom to not just the ones I gave birth to. |
By cbat
Mom answers telephone; Dad was in a fatal accident, His heart stopped for 30 minutes, he was pronounced dead, then while the lumberjacks waited for help he started breathing again.
After Dad came home from the army he was much different than the excited young man that started out. His stories of this time were sad and hard for him. He talked of his own reagent and because he was taller and broad at chest was appointed as MP, "meaning his was responsible was to police," his own men, dragging them out of bars and enforcing rules.
Mom talked of seeing his scars from army men throwing knives at him, he brought home many knives, deadly and beautiful. I recall him telling us that the danger he faced was often the soldier in the bed beside him, so he slept with an eye open and gun in hand.
He talked about being on the islands, giving starving native children his food because they were searching through the garbage. He talked about the native women, their grass skirts and bare upper-bodies. He thought once to aid them, so he purchased "T-shirts" giving them to the women, when they came back proudly wearing the shirts with holes cut out to display assets he gave up trying to change them.
He never revealed to us that he was a hero, having saved his platoon. We learned at his funeral at 64 years old, then only because of his army salute.
I recall just before he died mom made an insinuation that dad had been close to a native gal, how close I do not know.
One story of dad was a time when he was directing army traffic, General Patton was traveling, expecting to be treated according to his rank and dad refused to him the right of way.
Dad was one of the tallest men I knew, attractive and always drawing attention. From when I was small I recall women admiring him, even old ladies loved him, one dignified old lady seeing him for the first time in years, screeched as dad picked her up twirling her around.
He had a short temper, but was more often gentle. I was told he danced and sang beautifully.
Before his Accident he had understandings with more than one young woman to marry, mom was just the first.
The year of his accident was 1954, "I was just four years old."
I often spent time with my mom as she sat by dad's bed-side, over the next five months.
He looked like a mummy with his head swathed in white wrappings. He was not expected to wake.
One morning he was found staggering around the hospital room, he had eaten a banana and was raving about "That black devil." Saying "He won't get me," One of his first words was "Bullshit."
When he came home he was weak and struggling to survive, but still big enough that it was a struggle to control him. He had headaches making him roar with pain.
As he became stronger and began working on small jobs, he often tried to explain his experience. Through the years I listened and tried to comprehend his stories.
His accident was while he was on the job he took after the army, He was a lumberjack, going deep into the forest logging.
This day they were cutting trees, one tree they were trying to fell was on a hill, dad volunteered to cut it. He was as I was told the best man for the job. He cut the tree, but as the tree fell it hit a hidden log dad was standing on, throwing him 30 feet into the air, he came down splitting his head on a rock with the top half of his skull falling over the bottom. He was pronounced dead, they were far away from civilization so someone went for help, 30 minutes later his heart started beating. In the hospital the doctors lifted the fallen part of his skull securing it with a metal plate.
Because of the brain damage, parts of his memory were gone, and his paths of thought were interrupted, he would think one thing, such as a name of something or some one but it would come out something else.
I was called "The other girl," my big sister was "The older one," and one was called "The red one." Sometimes hammer came out piano.
Such trouble just trying to communicate made his headaches worse.
The interesting thing about the speaking process was that when he sang, words he was unable to speak were easily sang. His favorite song was "A poor wayfaring man of grief."
As I grew up and many children were added to our family, we listened to his stories, for myself; each time he suffered I did also. When he described "Shock Treatment," I watched him shudder, desperate to never be put through this again.
He told of his death experience.
He was a devoted follower of the Mormon leader Joseph Smith.
His grandfather and father were bodyguards of this polygamist leader.
He grew up on stories from his father, he told of his crippled father getting so excited that he rose from the ground when telling of a vision that Joseph Smith experienced.
Dad's father and grandfather were also polygamists, his mother had just four children, dad, brother John and two sisters. All were tall and large not overweight but broad of shoulder, with huge booming voices. When they came to our home they acted like children, laughing, teasing each other and running over the beds and through the house.
When Dad's heart stopped he believed he visited his father and Joseph Smith, seeing heaven, the beautiful gardens with bushes having many different types and colors on one. The women with long flowing hair and red flowers (red his favorite color).
The peace that pulled him back, the longing in his eyes to return wrenched at my heart.
Sometimes he talked of the battle of good and evil, the horrible battles to come, his fear was in his eyes.
Now I think that when a body dies their brain waves show what they believe in, each persons heaven is according to their belief.
Sadly also if their belief in evil is strong enough and they feel they have been evil they may see this hell.
My mother struggled with his illness, protecting him and concealing his violent times from us.
It was just before she died, that she told me some things.
The times he stripped her, dragging her around with her pleading to him not to let the kids see. As the years passed he learned to realize when his headaches were starting and try to get away from people he could hurt.
At five I remember watching him leave, going towards a group of tree's away from the house, he stayed for a long time there, as the evening came I watched the light above, come down over his head, as darkness came he returned calm saying he had talked with his father.
At my young age I believed the ball of light lowering above him was God.
The young women meaning to become wives to him, married elsewhere because of his disability.
One young woman, came often to our home, to help mom. Then began staying, she had been already forced with her sister to marry a very old man, she was with dad a lot and as a child I saw my mothers pain. Then this young woman disappeared. Often over the years dad wondered about her. Just months before he died he disappeared for a short time, he told me he found her and they spent time together, he seemed overjoyed.
Mom told me before this, that when dad came home he was thrust into a family he did not know, the part of his life, his love for mom and children was damaged, his brain never recovered this. The young girl was someone new, he loved her and so she was sent away by the leaders. When they met again they were both old, having lived different lives. My memory of her was that she was kind to me.
Dad was from old teaching, believing that a man must be strong tough and able to protect women.
After the accident he lost control over some of this, he never hurt me, in fact as my illness came he often nursed me, I recall one time, I was ten and blind my face blew up like a balloon, he carried me to appointments until I could see again. When very small I recall him hiking miles carrying me on his shoulders because the truck broke down.
As he became older he worked in rest homes, he was gentle and strong enough to lift patients. If someone in town had a child in a wheel chair he often helped.
Some brothers, and sisters were not as kindly treated, the boys especially were handled with violence, men felt that boys should be taught to be strong and tough. He often beat them so that I felt they would not survive, because he knew or thought they lied or stole.
My only big brother, when quite small was terrified of the chain saw dad used in building fences, dad would start the loud motor and Con would run for the house climbing as far under the bed as possible, dad would drag him out and try again. I don't believe dad ever managed to convince Con that the saw was safe. My brothers were as stubborn as dad was and would rather have been beaten to death than give in.
As they had children of their own, they also disciplined their children in this abusive way.
For awhile dad worked building fences, the uncle running the company had a hammer made, heaver and larger to fit his hands. Everything he used was huge, Just having him hold my hand while walking was exhausting, one step of his was running ten for me to avoid being dragged.
Dad's beliefs were often confusing, his mother was important and often in the middle of the night he would rise from bed, waking us all because he was upset saying "Maw" needed him, traveling across town to answer her call.
He was a "Momma's boy."
Since his death, many years ago I still imagine I feel him beside me at times when I think of him, a warm reassuring feeling.
| Author Notes | This chapter is only a rough draft, I have much to add and correct. I am afraid I keep releasing them partly done. |
By cbat
My daughter Screamed at me; "You never believed in this religion!, I'm going to live it better than you and dad ever did!"
I replied, "You don't have the right to tell me what I believe or how badly I have lived, until you try living your beliefs for twenty-five years, Only then can you judge me".
This was a conversation that I had with my oldest daughter, years ago.
I had not seen her for three years. Not because I did not love her, or that she did not love me; but because a man claiming to be "The prophet of god", said she shouldn't have any contact with me because I was an "Apostate".
When my grandfather was the prophet of our group, with a council of seven men, They had a better balance when teaching us.
Gradually The seven died or broke away from this group and were not replaced. When the last of the seven died, one of his sons became the self-appointed prophet. Before his father died this son had been the one to stand up and speak for his father, after he died this son took on the position and his fathers wives.
When we were devoted followers, we watched this young man grow up, first he was assigned to handle the private school our children attended.
He displayed fanaticism even then. At this time he stopped our children's education involving American history, he re wrote their reading assignments, directing their learning toward his teachings only.
His fixation on all things sexual, showed as he taught morning classes, he advised our innocent children "Do not look at your naked bodies When you are bathing".
Often saying, "Boys are as naturally drawn to girls as bees are drawn to honey".
This pious young man instigated a school policy requiring all teachers, students , girls and boys, to be inspected each morning; skirts, dresses shirts and pants were measured to see that they met requirements of length, fullness and material thickness making sure under garments did not show, girls clothing could never have a waistline with a point because it directed the eyes to private spots.
As his father became less able to speak and attend meetings, this boy spoke more frequently for him. I watched as he began courting his fathers young wives, after he went to jail for rape of both boys and girls, it was discovered how perverted he really was.
He questioned students about home practices encouraging them to report on their parents.
Finally we realized that this religion was flawed and our children needed to be free of it. By the finish our family was split and only one wife remained. Much of this was my doing, I cannot express the joy of walking into a home and finding no one angry or disapproving there.
How could I explain my mistakes to my daughter, or get her to understand how close she is to repeating them, I don't know how to make her realize she is following a dangerous path.
We her parents pushed her to marry a boy she did not know, because the prophet said she "Belonged" to him.
It was we who taught her to believe in "Celestial Marriage", meaning a man was supposed to take at least three wives to reach it after death.
She had every right to be angry, saying she thought we would disown her if she refused. She learned to love her appointed husband and was a mother by then.
This new turn took two of my daughters away, one came back, she also loved her appointed husband. She refused to leave him, waiting until he too realized they must leave this religion.
I still feel guilty and sad, I miss my daughter and her children.
I could endure not seeing them if I know they are safe and happy.
The boy she married seemed to love her and be good.
Now I think they have been pulled apart. This happens many ways, sometimes the husband is disowned because he had bad thoughts or The woman is rejected because she had a mis-carriage, "Murder", in the leaders words. She was rejected and I think she with her children are somewhere, I would be delighted if her husband was with her. I confess to being glad that they are away from this group, no matter how it happened.
In polygamy some times the problem is not that a man does not have love for a wife or her children but because he loves another woman more, most times the problems come because wives are competitive, but also many women suffer violent abuse both physical and emotional, This I have experienced first hand. Always a woman is left crying, and children are treated according to their mothers position with the man.
This leader is known to separate families when he deems the father is unworthy.
Many times women and children are separated from a father and husband they love, given to a more worthy man, whom usually already has a huge family. If a woman refuses she is convinced she is committing herself and children to eternal damnation, also the man having this extra family has no choice. The confusion and pain have lasting results.
When a mother is living and raising only her children, she can treat them as she feels is right, not fearing another's disapproval.
In a family with many mothers, she must gain permission and approval of everyone living in the home. Many such families are subject to which woman the man favors, her children then are the best, and as a woman is pushed down the line so are her children. In my experience the children usually protected each other.
The fable is that everyone involved is better off, children have many loving mothers and mothers can take turns with choirs and husband.
In my life I spent more time trying to contain my family, keeping us all together with problems of adults taking most of my time and attention, often children were left to comfort each other and I am as guilty as anyone.
My thoughts at the time were that if the children were in a broken family more damage would be done.
Looking back, It has taken over ten years just to clear my thinking, I see so much more now. When living in such a way, I did not as they say "Look under the rug", Once done it cannot be undone. Also for myself I learned not to question, only after I would think things through and realize something did not add up, even when the children I gave birth to were involved, I allowed someone else to control things. I struggled in this religion for almost 28 years. In many ways the children struggled as well three of my children married by appointment. I cannot fix these mistakes. When I left this life I was old and everything was new and needed to be learned by mistake. Mortgages, taxes, health care all I had learned not to ask questions about.
I finally obtained my high-school diploma.
My grand children are my way of showing my children how I wish I had treated them, My grand-children are my absolution.
When my personal demons keep me awake at night, I write letters to my children that will never be sent, such as this one:
Sweet Lindy Sue,
It seems that much of my life has been used up waiting.
As a child I waited for Daddy to come home, or the end of the week, for an outing or for something exciting to happen.
As a pre-teen I waited for school to start, then for it to end.
I waited for a friend, I waited until I could get a job, and always waited to get over an illness.
As a teen because I worked away from town I waited for days off from my job so I could go home.
Finally I waited to get married because that was supposed to be the most important thing a girl should do.
After marrying a young man picked for me, I found myself waiting for him to come home, then I waited for children to be born, then for money to be more plentiful.
Next I waited for my husband to bring home another wife, after this happened I waited much more. Waiting for time with him, waiting for him to act like he missed me, waiting for the empty feeling in my stomach to go away.
I learned to fill the waiting with other things, The children helped.
I realize now that I made my darling children wait too. You waited to be the center of someone's life. You were so patient during the trials a family like ours went through.
You waited while I paid more attention to everything in our lives except my own children.
I waited too long to tell my children how important they were to me.
When you had your own babies it was wonderful for me. I enjoyed spoiling them feeling like perhaps you realized I wish I had spoiled you.
I have more grand children and always enjoy them, but I miss you and yours. Kids grow up secure if they receive the love they deserve, knowing they are beautiful, smart and loved. For little girls, the knowledge that they aren't limited in education options because of their sex is retribution.
You are a great mother, I have seen this and realize you are far better at this than I was.
I hope that if you continue following this religion you somehow see through the mist created around it, and live it because it feels right and gives you happiness.
I lived it because my parents expected me to, also because I felt I was not good enough to have a man all my own.
You are nothing like me. Hopefully you know that you are special, you do not need to take a step back or become second best.
Think of your own daughter and sons, remember the pain it causes.
Put your children in your shoes a few years from now, will they want this? Did you want this?.
Have your children seen enough to know the choices available, both good and bad?.
Do you want your children worrying about shoes and food for their children, or do you want them working on things that improve theirs and others lives?.
I now feel different about religion, I am not sorry I married because it gave me my children.
The regrets I feel are that so many suffered and were mistreated, so many needs I did not even see.
When I married I felt I had it all, I experienced passion, love and friendship for awhile.
My story is not a sad story, it does not have an ideal ending but it was the best I could do at the time.
Gaining emotional distance I see so much clearer, the violence and wrong you experienced should never be repeated.
I cannot be sorry because I was allowed to love more than just my children. Each child was special. If we change the bad we may also loose the good.
Even those that hurt us will not be around forever, if we can see a way to forgive them we may find peace.
This is not an apology for my mistakes or an excuse.
It is an apology because I did not hold on to you harder and show how important you are to me.
Even religion cannot be blamed for our mistakes, we need to understand our own mistakes and improve as the generations grow.
I have learned late in my life that the more secure and content the parent is so the children will be.
I wait again to hear if someone has seen you, I look in crowds thinking you were there. You are in my thoughts and I wait for a call.
Your many brothers and sisters think of you, they have not given up on having you in our lives.
It is Mothers Day and someone is missing.
Your mom.
| Author Notes |
It has been a few years, I live alone and enjoy doing so. My daughter has left and been judged, many of my siblings are struggling to survive, they are trapped, living in poverty.
some will loose children and grand children if they leave. I am not trying to destroy a religion but am desperate to expose a cult. I write these night letters thinking that somehow if we do not see each other again, then all my children, will celebrate with me at my going. |
By cbat
She was born to a staunch man, the daughter of his first wife.
She had five sisters and two brothers.
They lived in St George Utah.
At least two of her sisters were raped as young girls.
Her father married his second wife and soon after disowned her mother.
She was called a wicked woman, I do not have the details but assume she left her husband and eventually married again she died of an enlarged heart when I was very young.
Sadly the leaders of our polygamist group branded my mother as "A very wicked woman".
My mother told of a father that seemed to always be angry.
She said she was working at the "Ranch"(I believe it was a so called "United Order" ranch where everyone believing in the group volintered their children and themselves to work, farming and any other job needing done.
She talked about eating a dozen eggs each for breakfast.
One night some of them were left to watch the livestock overnight, they had a shed or small cabin to sleep in. They stayed awake till light because an large cat, perhaps a Couger circled the cabin all night trying to break in.
One morning she said her father sent her from the big ranch house out to collect the men working on the fence.
She jumped on a horse and rode the wind to call the men in, then turned back to the ranch riding hard, when she got to the ranch she realized her father was very angry telling her to get off the horse, She realized her shirt had ripped its buttons and everyone saw her bra.
She met my father working on this farm, they fell in love and married.
At the time dad also had a couple other young women lined up to marry him.
Mom indicated she also had a couple other boyfriends also.
By cbat
My father was born in West Jordan Utah.
His father had more than one wife, I believe his mother's name was Miranda.
Dad talked a lot about his father and grand father being bodyguards to the Mormon prophet Joseph Smith, whom with Brigham Young brought polygamy to Utah.
Dads mothers family originally came from Canada, also polygamist's.
Dad talked of running and playing in the fields.
He had two sisters and one brother, the brother was mentally challenged.
When dads sisters came to our home while I was a child, they were like kids, teasing each other and running through our little house screaming and laughing. As a child these were good times for me, just watching them made me happy.
I was told of a time when dad and siblings, were playing in an old barn, they convinced one of the girls she could fly from the top of the barn if she just flapped her arms; She jumped, flapped and fell breaking her arm.
Grandma Mae told me a few stories of dad.
She said that When she baked pies he always got into them eating what she meant to give the neighbors; so one day when he was quite small she baked the pie putting it high on a shelf, she came home to a demolished house and empty pie pans.
Even when dad was small he was a problem, he often ran away so one day when she had something she had to do, not knowing what to do to keep him out of trouble she tied a rope to his coveralls then tied the rope to the cloths line. When she came back his clothes were still tied up and he was down the road playing marbles with other kids, but he was necked.
Dad was not always gentle, one of his sisters told of a time they found two cats tied to the cloths line by their tails fighting.
Dad talked of his father often, he seemed to worship him and all his father believed. His father and grandfather being body guards of Joseph Smith witnessed a revelation given to him. Dad said that when his father talked about this experience his feet left the ground.
His father was also a harsh father and when he became angry he would reach with is cane catching dad around the neck drawing him near.
From what I understood dads father was unable to walk without a cane.
During this time the bathroom was most often an outhouse with wooden seats over deep holes dug in the ground, the outhouse usually had some sort of door and a latch. A great joke was to watch someone go in, then the boys would tip the outhouse over with the person inside with pants down.
As dad got older his mom moved to southern Utah with the group, this was where he met mom.
| Author Notes |
More of my book of short stories.
I realize now how little I actually knew of dad's childhood. He had a bad accident that after recovery could not express his feelings through the normal speech pattern. I was so young that this was the only way I remember him speaking. |
By cbat
The first time I saw LD was in the establishment called "Miracle Manor"
Sometimes people working there doing small jobs would entertain anyone around during breaks.
I was just 15 or 16, it was the 60's.
LD was playing his guitar and singing. He was rather good looking, tall and lean. A real bad boy; as I learned later.
From the moment we locked eyes I was fascinated, He gave me special attention and through the next few months we spent quite a lot of time together.
I especially enjoyed the evening motorcycle rides, clutching on for dear life with him doing everything he could to surprise me or make me loose my tough girl face.
Many times during the rides we were on the top of the hill overlooking the city, on this hilltop was a deep pool, which he suggested swimming in.
My response was always "no way! We don't have suits." His response was always "who needs suits?". Ha! Ha!
He showed me his family's land with an old home that was nearly destroyed, he was always talking of rebuilding on the same land. Fifty years later I wonder how much was truth or just a fabricated story.
The best time for me was sitting looking into his eyes as he sang "Man Of Means, King of the road".
He would tell me it was just for me.
By the end of the summer with my occasional visits home to my polygamist town, stories started filtering through.
Through my time working at miracle manor many women and a few men worked there, including my father.
I often stayed in a small house behind the manor, offered by my manager.
Sometimes women would ask me if they could stay overnight with me.
I really took everything at face value and neither questioned or thought much about reasons. I felt sorry for these married women, the husbands seemed unkind and usually made advances to any available girl even while a wife watched.
The women in this situation had been married young and were mothers before they grew up, often abused by these men.
Some I felt had never been told they were beautiful or interesting, they simply did not know how to handle being seduced.
The comfort they felt for such a short time they deserved.
When a man aptly named "Dick" came in abruptly almost dragging his wife Grace out, telling her he would not sleep with her for a month because LD may have gotten her pregnant, then the fact that LD had been flattering and offering comfort to more than one sad woman finally dawned on me.
This was almost the end of summer, I did not see LD after this.
I missed the motorcycle rides and the music, but my heart nor body were deeply involved with him.
My thoughts often went to Grace.
And occasionally King of the road brought back memories.
| Author Notes |
This is just another short story dredged from memory.
That it ended without my lost innocence seems that if I believed in a guardian angel it may have looked after me. Naw! I was just stupid lucky! |
By cbat
I am was16 years old, my big sister was 18.
I had been working at an establishment called "Miracle Manor".
We lived in a town 50 miles away, called "Colorado City", or before this "Short Creek".
My sister and I grew up being taught polygamy. Our home town was only people believing in this so called religion.
Many women living Polygamy became employed at this establishment.
Our matronly manager of this place, rented a tiny house behind the manor.
She made this tiny house available to me,
My sister came down sometimes. Both of us spent time with a fellow named Larry he was a little older and to me more friend.
I also had a young friend working and sometimes staying at the manor.
He told of an abusive family and no one that cared.
Gene and I (Jene) were like "Two peas in a pod", we had a lot of fun together.
Thinking back-he teased me a lot, now I realize he was being "Fresh," at the time I had no idea how to play those flirting games so I brushed him off.
Larry and Gene often bragged about drinking beer, the wonder of it all.
My sister and I had never tasted such a wonder.
It was decided that the next time sis and I stayed in the tiny house the boys would procure Beer and visit us.
Looking back I realize the boys had a different idea of beer and friends.
They arrived with a friend or two and plenty of beer.
It took little beer for me to decide it tasted like piss, although I had never tasted piss.
My big sister was not much more impressed.
We watched the boys drinking, They seemed to loose brain cells fast. One tried to help me drink from the can, I took the can dumping it on the floor.
Sis and I decided we were tired so we invited the boys to leave, this was difficult but sis was tall and I was mean. We got the boys out and pushed the dresser to keep the door shut. The boys tried to get into the tiny window but failed. We turned off light and went to bed.
The boys made much noise and eventually left.
This was the beginning and end to the legend of "Beer", another myth created by man.
| Author Notes |
This is just a simple memory, now thinking back the fact that I put myself in situations like this makes me realize that stupidly got me through.
I guess. |
By cbat
Where are you sister
how art thou
are you loved
where you are now
are you happy
are you proud
are their voices
way too loud
no more suffering
no more pain
all you have
is my gain
When you sleep
do you dream
in my dreams
your often seen
In your lofty castle
with your things
no more hitting
no more screams
traveling world wide
hidden pain denied
people bow as you go
caring not you know
money riches jewels divine
in your heart why whine
you have yours
I have mine
remembering your pain
must not come again
could not stop
efforts in vain
wandering through life
now free of strife
I would never be a wife
left you to your strife
I would share
peace of mind
if your heart I did find
wishing all your heart
wants and more
health beauty strength
till you find the door
| Author Notes | Sometimes the gift of letting someone go is the way you love them so |
By cbat
Did you hear?
he Say's
that child is wild
so bad too sad
blame it on
mom or dad
better parenting
should be had
their parent's
should have done
what we did
this they said
my little one
would not act
like that, did you
notice he is fat?
Have you seen
how she acted?
what she said?
keep her home instead
for my child
rights retracted
my child is smart
won't break our heart
she would never
break our rules
they should have
found better schools
have you noticed
clothes to tight?
an exercise program
Not another bite
this one is to thin
this one not tall
another seems
much to small
the parent's
each judging all
six small children
six proud parents
each sure they
have done the best
my child is not
like the rest
some keeping children
safe in the nest
tell them nothing
that is best
another pushing them
out to live their lives
if they know the score
they will survive
six sets of parent's
six children small
opinions change
as they grow tall
all do their best
sharing with the rest
all feeling
they know best
| Author Notes | Watching my children become parents, I feel that if we were Grandparents first we may have avoided mistakes made. |
By cbat
Tweet tweet
sound so sweet
did a baby fall
in my window well
there you are
you fly far
want to know
who you are
next morning
tweet tweet
open blind
see your feet
morning again
tweet tweet
there you are
what do you seek
do you like
watching me
are you watching
TV
curiosity killed the cat
hope you avoid that
think I will
give some crumbs
if you like
it will be done
in the morning
come again
| Author Notes | This small creature keeps coming back, perhaps he is taunting my dogs. |
By cbat
I was born into a polygamist religion, my grandfather and great grandfather were bodyguards of Joseph Smith in the Mormon religion.
My father had been excommunicated, he loved and believed in polygamy but never had more than my mother as a wife.
Dad was a lumberjack and when I was about four he had a fatal accident, his head was broken and his heart stopped beating for about thirty minutes. When his heart started again it seemed a miracle, he was in a coma for months. When he finally woke up he suffered headaches and was often violent, mom protected him through this while having fifteen living children. We were feral kids, this was I think when I was happy.
I met my husband two weeks before marrying him.
I had seen him for the first time a few weeks before at church, for some reason he impressed me.
When my grandfather came to my workplace and said I was asked by God to marry him I was shocked and felt lucky that he was young and good looking, not already having other wives, also he was getting an education.
I was afraid that he would reject me, I was plain with physical and health problems.
Now I look back and realize that he could not say no, at this time in our religion if a man was told to marry and refused he would receive no more wives, especially if he was looking for his first wife.
I met him once before leaving the little town I grew up in, he was kind and much more affectionate than I expected or actually wanted.
I responded simply because he treated me as though I was attractive and I gave myself the right to trust him because I knew he deserved a pretty wife and living polygamy he would get one. I created in my mind what I wanted him to be, that he did not live up to this was quite disillusioning.
It took 28 years of marriage, two more wives and a total of 16 children before I divorced him.
During my marriage we accomplished good and bad things.
We Bucked hay, built fences, supported sometimes as many as 50 people living with us, raised horses, chickens, rabbits cows and basically ran a farm.
We killed and packaged our meat, milked cows and for quite awhile made everything from this farm.
Our clothing was from thrift stores or sewn, including underwear and shoes.
During this time we also built from the ground up, because of his education and the help of our children from the time they could work, a mufti million dollar business, this business is still manufacturing worldwide.
Our children have accomplished many things and are educated.
Also our grand children are choosing their professions and getting their education.
The thing that I am often most thankful for, was our family giving up the religion, allowing most of our children although damaged, by the example of multi moms always fighting and a father whom was never wrong, they are making better lives for their families. Some were married the same way I was and no one has a perfect marriage, some have failed and all take work.
The bad things in my marriage were very bad, Forced sex, physical and emotional abuse which lasted through most of my 28 years of marriage. This also caused our children to fend for themselves often, waiting for the adults to stop the fighting.
As the years have passed we experienced unexpected hurtles, drug abuse, the surprise of having a gay child, and the joy this was, and pain when we lost him. We still are missing one child and her children, they are somewhere out there.
When I finally divorced my husband and another wife left, our children were able to decide their own fates and I am proud of them and my grandchildren.
People do bad things, often things they would never have thought they would and sometimes spend the rest of their lives denying and telling untruths to maintain the actions and the lie.
As we get old it seems that we are absolved of some crimes simply by the reluctance of family to look at the truth.
Sometimes the truth does more damage than repair.
Today the religion is looked at as a cult, and stories are constantly seen on TV, most have truth and fiction so mixed that the people telling what they experienced seem to also not be sure of the difference, although many use the media to gain attention or money by writing about this.
Looking back, the bad things have to be put aside and I am thankful for my children and proud of them all.
The Media seems to want only the bad of this life style, although I would never support living it, there are people that seem to think it works and some people try hard to do it right.
I cannot judge, I fully believed and even years after leaving it I am still in some ways finding myself again.
| Author Notes | I have spent my life watching people, when someone is so immersed in the bad things they become shrivelled and unpleasant. Everybody has a story. |
By cbat
Once again
the pain
waxes and wain's
why can't I sleep
morning again
I want to go back
follow dream track
I dreamed I was dead
finally I said
I woke up dead
sick I am
of toasting bread
don't want breakfast
lunch or dinner
tired of trying
to be thinner
sick of life
it's too much strife
kids have problems
between husband
and wife
old I am
I don't want
woman or man
friends are too much
wish to run
or play with a ram
happy I was
to wake up dead
annoyed
don't want to
wake up
if dead
why wake up
if really dead
wheat's the point
it must be said
| Author Notes | each morning, wishing |
By cbat
Trapped am I
Looking at blue sky
Trees swaying
clouds up high
Birds fluttering
bees buzzing
I don't give a crap
I've had enough of that
All the flowers
all the trees
birds and bees
Release me please
even when small
didn't want this all
Let me sleep
not to wake
pleasure offered
don't want to take
happy life does
not me make
This feeling
I will not shake
Glad I am
for family and man
let them enjoy the glam
Don't tell me of
Gods great plan
he's only a man
I don't give a damn
I sit and I wait
nothing worth
this state
So many years
stop the tears
I've waited enough
don't want to be tough
desire never satiated
too long I have waited
not sorry to say
nothing is worth the stay
Wishing to be on my way
being here not my choice
I was not given voice
your believing is fine
it is not mine
where I came from
is where I belong
so long I dream
of being gone
How to escape
old age does rape
dignity and pride
nothing to hide
much longer I will not abide
not your decision
you have nothing to hide
I prefer you not at my side
Let others be valant
trials to take
I reserve the right
a decision to make
apology given
after grief has risen
you understand
life isn't my brand
enjoy your lives
take daring dives
this is your choice
make the most
don't be a ghost
| Author Notes |
This is just my morning ritual, I do not wish to sink further into quicksand.
Also I am trying not offend. My choices are being taken away. to the advantage of none. |
By cbat
Deep in sleep
I cannot wake
a wrong turn
I did make
In his bed
rather be dead
I feel a squeeze
unhand me please
my tit in your hand
not yours man
the one you seek
is silicone
I think
The one you touch
is old I'm told
You are far
to bold
I must wake
from this
nightmare break
The lesson being
do not be dreaming
| Author Notes | Dreaming can sometimes take you where you do not want to go |
By cbat
Feeling it coming
knowing not what to do
Can't say stop
no one listens to you
Life is so crazy
no one has it easy
We think all is great
until become queasy
Why does she do
that thing that she does
We think we are smart
not to do what she did
Each little daughter
says what she otter
I am the wise one
my ideas the better
Finding herself eating
advice she fed her
Danger in thinking
we can prevent her
Watching children
take the wrong road
Don't do what I did
do what I told
Whatever you do
I you will enfold
| Author Notes | One of the hardest things in being a mother is to watch mistakes happen. |
By cbat
Dark curly hair
big eyes filled with tears
hard to handle
all through her years
darling baby rocking on the couch
"I hate mom," she would shout
school was a trial
each morning the same
under her bed
she wanted to remain
kicking and screaming
she was such a demon
as older she got
screaming she sought
finding a pin or needle
all passing she poked
not word of warning
not a word had she spoke
as she grew older
a boy she did find
her mean streak
seeming not to mind
now she is grown
the demons children
all of her own
being a nurse
her needle found home
| Author Notes | One of my beautiful daughters, I am proud of her spirit. |
By cbat
Finally asleep I am being
She comes in
What am I seeing
Finger to dismantled lips
saying not a peep
stay asleep do not weep
Enlarged head
hair rough and coiled
showing not hiding
what has been foiled
Scars and tears
seeping and weeping
hands not able to
scratch the creeping
Who are you to whine and cry
your suffering is just one lie
look around for such as I
We are here not found dear
some are missing eyes and ears
our bodies are breaking
we are the forsaken
Tell your pain
find your gain
Then began again
| Author Notes |
I do not know what this is, after reading and thinking about so many things people do to each other.
my sleep is unsettling |
By cbat
Ten little girls
went out to play
Watch out for monsters
no one did say
some met monsters
pretending just play
being afraid knowing
not what to do or say
others were warriors
keeping monsters at bay
Ten young girls
each going her way
having their children
with them enjoyed play
Ten women having
children did see
monsters there
will always be
finding those same
monsters with their
children did play
Each woman
seeking a way
trying to keep those
monsters at bay
three defeated
no longer do fight
Cancer with one
she lost the fight
Another from drink
she fought with her might
One murdered by man
in the dark of the night
Thinking anything we can beat
not wanting to admit defeat
seven women
carry on the fight
one using her pen
she wrote with her might
loosing a child to monsters
she thought had been smote
one woman's child
a drug monster
did take she
finding it hard
in morning to wake
around our children we
all built a mote
finding danger
will never be smote
seven old women
fight the fight
soon will be six
this we cannot fix
for children we all
will fight on and on
the fight of life
just another sad song
The message here
is do not despair
enjoy your lives
breath in the fresh air
when we look for
joy of life-there
is plenty to spare
just try
it is everywhere
| Author Notes |
This is put together a bit wrong
I will edit it as I see my mistakes |
By cbat
When did this happen
My loss of life
I died before
due to strife
Each new life
hope came again
Lesson learned
mistake not
repeated
each new life
again defeated
Never I said
I am not dead
I will decide
where I bed
old now I am being
another says who
I am seeing
who I see no
longer my choice
another has become
my voice
Here I am not in
charge
into my room
anyone can barge
This I was not seeing
I am controlled
by another seeming
Beautiful children
their lives screwed up
when I want to talk
I need to shut up
Delicate feelings
a word said wrong
my love or relationship
with a child gone
no longer do I decide
who comes into home
my dogs my friends
no longer roam
people I knew
those I choose to see
not my decision
not made by me
wrong to think
we are in control
life takes over
we all get rolled
Sanctuary suddenly
becoming jail
being needed
puts us in hell
someone offers to
take care of you
its bound to happen
what can you do
pride makes us
pay our way
we cannot say
no thanks
i'll be on my way
making someone need you
is not having them
free you
with children, dogs or others
cannot stop being mothers
Helping children
until I die
When I go
not up to I
| Author Notes | A day I forgot to take my antidepressant |
By cbat
wake up!
Coffee pill
do the deal
headache gone
for how long
drag out of bed
need some bread
take pills instead
I feel grumpy
am looking dumpy
morning wake up
pill to break up
pill to sleep
pill not to eat
pill to stay happy
not to be snappy
pill for joint
what the point
pills to remember
refill in December
call the doctor
get the pills
cost so much
can't pay bills
Mind is muddled
I am troubled
pills are doubled
stop the pill
what happens will
| Author Notes |
I am not a poetry person, but sometimes it relieves tension.
I need to take a class on poetry after the grammar class. |
By cbat
My toes are cold
my head is hot
in between
I know not what
My lips have thinned
my nose has not
I cannot breathe
it's full of snot
The hair is thin
but only on top
looking in the mirror
I know I cannot
The old ugly thing
Is it me or not
in all my years
the things I sought
they do not matter
should they ought
to walk awhile
I cannot smile
my knees are fat
I spread if I sat
my teeth are brittle
I leak spittle
my mind is small
I cannot recall
my hands just fiddle
I must piddle
why I am here
for someone dear
don't make me
last another year
| Author Notes |
This is what happens as we age
separating men from women becomes harder we all start to look alike |
By cbat
She feels her fear, exhaustion and cold. She pulls the long dark cloak around her thin shoulders.
It is dark, she stumbles. She can hear the man behind chasing her.
She looks down seeing the fires below the cliff she stands on.
It is so dark but she must keep running. She falls again he catches her. Struggling she looks into the huge Roman soldier's eyes, he is enraged cold and without mercy. As he pulls his dagger she screams; he stabs her pushing her off the cliff, she is falling.
April wakes in a sweat, The dream has come again.
The same dream has followed her for years, it leaves her desperate and shaking. My only big sister tells me about her past life. She has always been terrified of knives or sharp objects. She feels she died by a stabbing in her past life.
We stand on her worn broken old patio. The house is very old, also it is run down.
But this space is full of plants and flowers.
Leading down old steps to a small back yard and patch of grass.
She had a pet chicken that strolled around clucking loudly,
The fence was made out of parts from old cars and pieces of wood.
This little oasis was in the middle of a junk yard.
There were kids of different ages and coloring spilling out every where. A couple of older boys sitting on steps pretending not to notice us.
April looked for the butterfly that greeted her each spring.
Each spring (I wonder how old do butterfly's get?) Not important.
The simple belief that souls gone bring messages from other side through butterfly's is enough.
We did not get to visit often because I lived far away.
When we got a few of the ten girl's in the family together, there was a lot of laughter and jokes. We usually had more than one conversation going and could all jump from one conversation to another with ease.
Most of us had a lot of children, she gave birth to eleven.
Most were tall big girls, quite large with ample bosoms.
And to me all are striking; beautiful smart women.
She never learned how to drive a car, which to me was sad.
I loved the ability to jump into a car and just drive.
There is always good food, and something new that must be told.
We lived in poverty, our life is filled with creative ways of making something out of nothing.
The way we were taught the idea that souls could become Butterfly's! Was blasphemy.
We have been taught to do as told and if we could, we would be rewarded with a afterlife serving our appointed husbands with his other wives.
April was a talented beautiful sister. She has always been timid but strong when defending others.
As a young girl she was close to six feet tall with long dark brown hair, she was shy and always attracted attention, I much smaller than her often fought for her.
She started painting rocks, saying when she looked at them that the thing inside draws her. Each is a creation.
Some were animals others castles, there were cars and spiders. Her many grandchildren were fascinated. If you looked in little boys pockets you would find a stone car or spider.
She started taking grand kids rock hunting. Then she started teaching them to paint.
She used nail polish all colors shiny, glittery and plain.
Other times she planned outings in the canyons, sandwiches and the simple beauty of the mountain and stream.
April was big sister, mother to us all.
She was not yet sixty years when she got cancer. So unfair.
She did not whine but when traveling to receive treatment; she took every day as an adventure. She learned all she could about other people while enduring her Chemo treatment. Always she found excitement in new things.
She beat the cancer, it was gone.
But she was allergic to most products externally.
A little later she died of infection, her body was depleted of antibodies.
I think of her and choose to believe in her past. I hope her future lives will be full of beauty and love. Perhaps I will be there.
| Author Notes |
April believed in past lives, her dreams haunting her.
Perhaps this life was better, her husband was one of the few good men. May the next be even better, |
By cbat
Memory
you are so fickle
giving answers
at a trickle
Memory
you are often mean
changing all
I have been and seen
Memory
often cruel
fighting you
is a loosing duel
You control
all I see
all I know
When you are gone
I do not see
I do not know
who am I
where did I go
if I speak they say
that is not so
all alone without you
what can I do
where do I go
Memory
in comes you
with haunting memories
I did do
moments of love
things I knew
Memory
I thank you
| Author Notes |
I apologize for my poetry.
I release it to clear my mind of other things. |
By cbat
I am trapped in my head
I can not get out
I see myself
Scream and shout
I beat on the walls
no body hears my calls
I cannot sleep
I want to weep
My dreams are strange
they have great range
from pronouns to comma's
Oh No! There are lamas.
Reality, legality
Somebody "HELP ME"!
| Author Notes |
I have been in Fan-Story for about a week seriously reading but not always writing seriously.
I must take a break! |
By cbat
Alarmed and instantly awake Connell jumped out of bed, finding big sister Vonee standing over him "What is going on? I didn't wet the bed" he said.
Then he saw Deloy and April awake, rubbing their eyes. Momma was waking up the little girls too. He was afraid but none of the other kids seem frightened.
Momma whispered "Hurry Connell be really quiet". All The kids wondered what was going on.
Once they were awakened in the night when daddy brought home ice cream. They had to eat it before it melted, it was strawberry and really good.
Oh yeah! Another time they were woken up because it was raining; the rain was coming through the roof onto their bed, so all the kids slept on the floor by the heater it was cold and not very fun.
Connell saw that dad was not there and it wasn't raining.
Besides mom didn't seem upset.
Crash Bam! Bang! "What are those noises?" He whispered.
Mom Said "Hurry!, But be quiet or you will scare him!" He thought- Who is he? We are the ones that are scared.
Mom and the kids were sneaking towards the kitchen where the sounds were coming from.
"What the heck! It sounds like pans crashing" April said.
Sure enough pans were flying out of the cupboard. Suddenly a black head popped out, it had a white stripe and beady eyes "Skunk" they all whispered.
Mom Said "Be quiet or we will all get sprayed. Watch what he does next".
The skunk climbed out of the cupboard over the scattered pans on the floor. With his little black nose wiggling he sniffed around then he spotted the pan of chowder on the cupboard.
"Oh No! Its the tuna chowder mom made for supper! We were going to eat the rest tomorrow!" Whispered Connell. "It's Ok!, There is a lid on it." Whispered April.
The skunk jumped up on the cupboard, circling the pan sticking his nose under the lid, squeezing his head in; (now maybe mom will stop him the kids thought). Nope! Mom just smiled and motioned for them to be quiet.
Mister skunk slurped the milk off the chowder, he made it sound so good. Finally he stopped, his tummy looked very full. He waddled over to the cupboard edge jumped down. Slowly climbed over the scattered pots and pans back into the cupboard.
The kids waited holding their breath, but the skunk did not come out again.
Then mom said "Okay he is gone, come see how he got in".
Cautiously the kids gathered around the cupboard on hands and knees peeking in.
"Wow! Look at that! The hole is in the back but it is so tiny how did the skunk fit through?" Connell asked.
Mom said "They have so much fur they look bigger than they really are".
"Tomorrow we are going to fill that hole, it costs too much to feed a skunk tuna every day".
The kids watched while mom put the pans back in the cupboard when she was done she said "Now you kids need to go back to bed". Be quiet so you don't wake the baby".
But the kids were not sleepy anymore, "can we play some games and have some bread and butter" the kids asked.
"You can have some bread but no games", mom said. "Remember we have lots to do tomorrow".
Finally they got into bed still whispering about the skunk. It's was hard for them to go to sleep.
The next morning Vonee Said "I dreamed about a skunk"
"Ha! Ha! We all did", said April and the kids started laughing.
| Author Notes | This is a simple good memory of my mother. I am still editing it. |
By cbat
I hear the knock,open the door, a stranger stands there. "Who are you?" This girl asks.
"I am Jan" I answer.
"I asked your mom what you looked like, she said you were fat" is her reply.
When my own mom cannot give a description of me to a stranger with something kinder than this; Such as "She has cleared up her acne", or "Her feet are swollen but small", even saying something like what color my hair is. No that would not help!; my hair is mousy brown or as she used to say "dishwater blond" (dirty dishwater).
Depression sets in, survival only because this is one of the times I an actually NOT FAT!
This too will pass.
A life time of struggle trying to control, even to maintain my weight, trying to look into a mirror without hating myself. I have spent my life insulting myself.
My philosophy is to insult myself before someone else does. Still I am not always fast enough, others beat me to it.
I am an 800 number junkie. If it says "weight loss" and I have a telephone and credit card I must buy.
I ask myself "Why don't you create something that claims to help with weight loss?" Heaven knows ,I have contributed to others road to riches.
I have been a treadmill, running shoe and weight control maniac.
Breaking multiple tread mills. Using tape for ankle weights while struggling to find a weight that doesn't wear or rub holes into body parts.
When looking for a treadmill I take one home,because it looks good in the store then use for the 30 days before the warranty expires.
When it does not fit what I need and I am unsatisfied I would take it back.
Although if I just needed an excuse not to exercise any treadmill will do. They always looks good sitting there. You can even insert it into conversations-such as "My treadmill is so loud The neighbors won't let me use it after eight at night"
This tells people that I am aware that I am less than pleasing to the eye, but that I am doing something about it. This saves face and avoids their helpful advice.
I am proud to say, I have trimmed down with treadmills a few times, getting up to four miles a day for six months in a row (funny going back to this article I find the four miles has grown to five in the telling).
Unless they make another diet like Fen-Fen; exercise is the only answer. Pills equipment or encouragement will do nothing until I make the commitment, then I must exercise every day, after a month I find I can put aside antidepressants.
Each day after my struggle to exercise is done the whole day feels free. I am still fat but I know that I have at least done something about it.
This sounds good but once again I get depressed by looking in the mirror. All I see is UGLY!
The weight is not coming off.
When I look in the mirror my first instinct is to change something for an immediate fix.
This usually means changing hair, a cut or perhaps a color. This will distract people from my disgusting body.
I had to step up my efforts; So I shaved my head. The reason behind this was if I cannot use hair to make me feel better. I must work harder on my body!
I said "I will not have hair until I am thin". Going out in public was hard, people thought I was a cancer patient. I felt stupid and guilty for giving them this impression. Trying to explain to strangers "No I do not have cancer, I am actually quite healthy, I just got mad at myself".
The up point to this that after seeing me bald I never receive insults about my hair, they are terrified I will do bald again.
Another thing in the struggle of weight loss is ; DO NOT SMOKE!
I was facing a trip to Europe with people already critical of me. I had to loose weight fast. A friend said that he lost weight when he started smoking.
I was in a religion that said smoking was of the Devil. My husband could have divorced me for this.
I bought the cigarette's. This alone was an experience, shocked at the choices while trying to act like I knew what I was doing. I looked so guilty The only reason I was not carded was that I looked like I was Methuselah.
My children were difficult, I would sneak out on my balcony and force myself to smoke four cigarette's in a row. Then light incense using breath spray and hiding the butts. Saying "Smell? What smell? That is incense , Cherries, do you like it? They were not deceived. It is fifteen years later, I haven't yet talked about this with them. I don't want to know how much they knew.
People at work found this hilarious being supportive to a point. After two weeks of hell I gave up. I refused to go on the trip instead.
I got back on the treadmill, also going to a diet clinic and calling 800 numbers. This got me on a fen-fen lawsuit. This did not go anywhere.
MY part of the lawsuit took three years but I had minimal damage, damn it! Statistics say 80% of the people that used this diet pill knowing the danger would take the pill if offered.
One of the happiest moments of my life? The day I told myself; "Thanks to Fen-fen I will never be fat again".
I think I will start a web page with all the things I have tried with the results about loosing weight, I know I would read it.
My favorite movie was "What is wrong with Gilbert Grape?". Her children loved her enough to burn her house with her in it to save her and them the humiliation of people seeing her size when she died.
| Author Notes | This was written years ago while I was raising my kids. As time goes by health becomes more important than appearance. |
By cbat
She is angry, feeling trapped. She looks into my eyes; I hear her voice in my mind, pleading, "Don't let him watch". She is being washed and dressed by the nurses; he is her husband. He stands over her watching touching, looking.
We cannot leave her alone with her future killer.
My baby sister, Only thirty two years old. Mother of eight frightened little children. She has just lost the only baby made in love.
She went down in a shopping mall immediately aborting the baby.
Now unable to move, or speak.
The doctors say she is brain dead, but her eyes say different; telling of fear and humiliation.
When in control, she could keep him away, only waiting for the final divorce papers. He is still legally her husband and has the right to decide her and the children's fate.
She was just past fifteen when dad and mom turned her over to the "Priesthood". They told her that she would marry a boy she did not know (no body's catch). She obeyed revealing nothing of her life of hell until just before she died. Even then we only knew because of her writings, most read later.
This boys twisted sexual habits forced her to scrub her body and mouth with a tooth brush until she bled.
Many times she had no food for the kids. Her father in law would check in telling her that if she satisfied her husband he would provide food for her babies.
One baby died before birth, another was born mentally retarded from lack of nutrition.
Not allowed birth control, giving birth to one after another she was so depleted she could hardly walk.
When her youngest was four she took them out of the polygamist town she had been born in.
Moving into a two bedroom trailer with a sister, making a total of twelve children and two adults living there.
She put the kids in school, working hard to help them catch up on their education.
She filed for divorce.
She was smiling again. The kids were adjusting, all of them feeling more secure.
For the first time in her life she began feeling beautiful. She was asked out by a few men and finally said yes to one.
She was so innocent; never really educated about birth control and never thinking a simple date would go so far.
A few dates later they she and this man, think they are in love.
For the first time she experiences love and sex together, but he gets overwhelmed with the responsibility of her family. Both are reluctant to commit, so they separate.
Still she thinks of him and glows. She is pregnant, although frightened, she wants this baby. Her youngest is five and all of them are excited about it coming.
Standing in a court room. Two months pregnant, with her father by her side, she fights for her children.
Their father is using the unborn babe as a reason for her to loose custody.
Before strangers this shy quiet mother talks about times her kids went hungry.She Tells them how the town treated them, and what she has achieved, telling them this baby was conceived in love and she won't give any of her children up.
The court grants her all.
Christmas is close; they are happy, shopping for small things for each other. The future for them is bright; they are almost free.
Suddenly she goes down, unconscious when paramedics come. We are told the baby boy was immediately lost she is in a coma her body bleeding from every pore.
She has a head trauma, she hit her head as she fell.
The doctors tell us she may never speak again. We do not accept this, taking turns by her side.
We fight for her children. The father immediately tried to take them. He is telling them "Moma is bad, pray for her to die".
When she is stabilized he moves her to a rest home operated by people in the group.
I hear a patient in the same room saying "Why don't you let her die?".
She is on a respirator, it is old and loud with a tube in her throat.
We her sisters decide to take her home and care for her, it is important to keep one of us with her at all times.
The rest home people are abusive. A nurse that worked there in the past tells about things that make us uneasy.
We see she wasn't washed properly, her feet are smelly but when we try to clean them they make us leave.
We are certain her husband and family are causing this hostility from the staff.
Two of us go to talk to her. We are leaving for a couple of days; We tell her "When we come back we are taking you home".
Standing by her bed crying we tell her "We love you", unexpectedly she forms the words :"I love you".
It is impossible to express the joy of that moment, knowing with care she will be okay. Our faith is strong. Other sisters will watch over her.
A call comes through, we are in the middle of a wedding, a day of double joy because we know she is recovering. But She is dead.
Our big sister later tells us the staff refused to let her sit by her side, forcing her to leave.
Even then after her death her monster husband motivated by his father is in control "It is the law" we are told.
We are not welcomed at the funeral in the town cemetery or allowed to participate. So we conduct a small reception at the mortuary.
They bury her in the towns cemetery. We sit toward the back helplessly watching people standing over her, talking about how evil she was.
Her five year old holding her arms out to us screaming, held back by an hate filled grandmother; saying "No they are evil".
When her mother went to the hospital this five year old asked her aunt "If my mom dies, can I please live with you".
We are not allowed to see the children, we take the case to court, It appears we will be allowed to help raise them, Then court calls a break. Coming back our judge is gone; replaced by one on the polygamast groups payroll.We Go home defeated.
The kids are taken to a polygamist home where a known child molester lives. All pictures of their mom taken away.
All my life I have been told when someone died "They are happier there". A lie; She mama be happy where she was. She would never leave her children in this situation.
We were never given the actual reason for her death. I am certain her husband or his father caused it.
They had one night before we removed her from their reach, (perhaps it was the ancient respirator).
This polygamist cult taught that in gods name it is not wrong for a husband to help or instruct a wayward wife to end her life.
Some even supplied pills to do so. They told themselves they were saving their souls.
This husband was instructed by his father, being a lesser son; said to have bad blood from his mother he strove to please his father. Feeling inadequate, he would do anything he was told.
Especially because He was told if he didn't he would never receive more wives.
I have to ask "WHERE THE HELL WAS GOD".
| Author Notes | This was written a few years ago, the emotions felt have been put away. I write this opening old wounds, although they do not bleed now; her story still cries to be told. |
By cbat
Motivation where art thou
here I sit-like a fat cow
my body works
although it jerks
my mind is a little behind
each morning I ask where am me
this old person am I she
I don't want to wake
another day to take
how many years
watching humanities tears
unable to see, hear or be
will I be forced here to stay
feeling despair the more each day
what I was and did be
the less anyone can see
no one remembers not even me
better asleep than to see
the break down of he and she
| Author Notes | Just my thoughts as I find myself pulling out of bed each morning. |
By cbat
Today I am so much less than I used to be
Who am I?, I don't know me
Through the eyes of my children
This old lady who cannot walk or see
My memory full of things that did not be
My attempts to go back met with hostility
Ashamed I do not know how I lived and what was so
My stories wrong wherever I go
Am I wrong to tell my stories
when told by children more gorely
Is this caused by something I did or did not do?.
Why do I draw hostility from you?.
My regret is much that I lost touch.
With the beautiful child that I knew.
How to build up a child I have wronged-
Your beauty and talents were not my song.
I did to my mom what you to me do.
Breaking down me seems to bring up you.
Do not forget that I love you,
Always proud of what you do.
When you are old may your child see;
pride in what you used to be.
| Author Notes |
I have for the first time in many years began living with a child. I find myself loosing what I thought I was, feeling old and useless.
The hard part is feeling guilt as to what kind of a parent I was. I welcome your remarks realizing how bad my grammar is. |
By cbat
| Author Note: | I wrote this a few years ago. I know each time that I try to fix it I seem to make it worse. I have to let it go for now. |
"Don't look at her they whisper, it's not really her- she is not there."
I don't want to be here.
I am surrounded with vast crowds of strange creatures, some wrinkled or shrunken appearing to be slowly melting. Others are huge bloated and smelly these looking as though they may burst. These beings are dressed in strange outfits, some so covered you can hardly see them. Others are dressed with skimpy materials not covering bulging baggy flesh. My favorite are dressed in floatly black.
Who are these people? So many familiar faces in uncomfortable bodies?, I am supposed to know them from my past but the names elude me- causing feelings of apology and guilt.
I see small children with twisted crying faces, do they know why they cry or are they just emulating the older generations?, Whom have no true answers.
Why are these people here?. They are the ones that shunned and judged her. Some probably envied her and many of the men wanted her.
I drag my feet, taking as long as I can, interruption's are welcome.
I cannot turn away, the box gets closer. It is a delicate light wood. This she would have liked.
Now I look. No this enmity before me is not her, it cannot be. She was younger, prettier and slimmer also her nose was not shaped like that- her lips are twisted not smiling while her hands look bruised and different colors. This one looks angry and cruel. The clothing is not something she would have chosen. She has been dressed by her children to look like the mom they would have had her be.
Aha! This is a twisted joke! This is not her! Somehow she has cheated the Funeral kings of our world that insist on displaying horrific bodies in pretty boxes, thus forcing living beings to look,causing feelings of guilt, anger then fear with so many pretending pity. Do they know some of us feel envy?.
Why is it that many of these creatures are the very ones that treated her with disgust and superiority when alive, now are showing up to look at her final indignity?. They pretend they care. I wonder does this give them forgiveness or closure? I think it gives them a smug sense of justification and reassurance.
I want to shout my anger- being bitter and nasty, saying only bad things-striking out because so many need to be struck.
Her life was filled with man and rape. Her own family teaching her that she must always be the pretty soft quiet little girl if she expected to be loved.
So she hid her self-disgust at being unable to defend herself or her children. She blamed herself thinking she deserved the abuse. Because of this her life was shaped dragging her towards this moment.
In life she was taller than most women, slim and strong with a beautiful face and sharp wit. She was able to work along with the men-so often out working them. Always carrying an aura of dignity and strength.
Mother of four she educated herself becoming top in her profession. Gradually pulling out of the poverty she was born in.
She still was unable to leave the past and gradually became confused and erratic. Her stories changing into part fantasy with the reality becoming inaccurate. We did not see- also wandering through her stories not knowing the truth until after her death, finding she had died of alcohol overdose.
Through life she alternated between a tough hard woman that could take care of herself to a small hurt child wanting to be held. She drove away her children by trying to make them tough.
I believe her sickness came from her need for love and because she could only accept love if she was ill-she created an illness that allowed her to receive affection and love with others taking care of her. Because of her soft beauty and aura of innocence wherever she wandered she was offered sanctuary, giving her new people to impress and love. If we came close to realizing her addiction she moved on.
She died going home to a sister soul that earlier was released from her own torment and waited to greet her. My baby sister was thirteen years younger than I. One of ten girls. Raised in a polygamist community, with a father damaged and violent, to a mother she often felt hated her.
She was full of love for sisters, children and all people. She was often hard on her children- perhaps because she felt they had to be tough to survive.
I loved her completely and rejoice in her new path. May she find this is the sanctuary - we could not provide here. Somehow I believe I will see her again.
These feelings of anger I hold so close refuse to linger- for in death she has brought many remaining souls together with old grudges put aside if only for a little while.
We must never forget, if we do we loose all that we have learned. Understanding those that caused us pain, with full memory is to know the pain we have caused others. Then when the journey comes again perhaps a different path we all will take.
Like a hummingbird she fluttered into our lives, each person she touched wanted to catch and keep her but her heart beat fast and with little time she had far to go.
| Author Notes | This story was written long ago, I since have learned that the children struggled to dress their mom because she changed after death and her beautiful clothing did not fit. The children endured so much, still I hurt for them. |
By cbat
She stands in the dry hot cemetery, husband and 2 year old clinging to her skirts, she is miserable her huge tummy filled with an angry baby soon to be born I am the angry one. Her heart broken, the tiny little box contains her baby boy not yet a year old. He was very sick and my father and mother were unable to save him from a terrible infection that caused his skin behind ears to split and run infection. After his death her anger grew fed by strangers judging her on her beliefs and poverty. The mortician was called out to the tiny town to prepare her baby for burial and he was brutal taking her tiny baby then roughly putting him into a suitcase throwing it over his shoulder and walking off, she felt his disdain for all she was.
I was born soon after, a sickly baby with unformed nails and lashes, seeming to be inflicted with the same disease of my brother whom left before I arrived.
I grew up with constant illnesses, by the timer I was "placed" by a husband I could only see myself as ugly and deformed, I could not imagine anyone wanting me.
Now over sixty I still can't look in a mirror and have no use for makeup, my 9 sisters were in my eyes all beautiful, my favorite married my husband five years later.
Although I have not often felt human I do not regret my life, for awhile with the young man I married I believed in god and my own beauty, also I have children that fill my life with purpose, just watching them becoming educated and my grand children living lives that lets them live happy and free, having no comprehension of words like polygamy, or sister wives, never being touched by the violence of parents lives.
My families generations were polygamists, this group believed in filling the world with believers thus a women's most important job was procreation, she was especially important above even other wives if she produced sons, would increase a mans kingdom, he really needed only three wives but a dozen sons put him on a path to being god.
Dad when young and starting out married mom first but had at least two young women ready to join the family. He was drafted and after coming home was a much changed young man, he carried scars and years later explained as well as he could what war was. He talked of children starving and of giving native women shirts because they wore only grass skirts. He was shocked to see them wearing shirts with holes cut out for breasts to be exposed.
After coming home he became a lumberjack, being gone for weeks, coming home to our tiny cabin. He lost his planned way of life when he died, coming back to an unfamiliar world.
| Author Notes | Forgive me for mistakes, I am experimenting with fan story and will eventually muddle through learning how to use it. |
By cbat
In the beginning life seemed simple, as a child I did not realise how messed up my life was and would become. We ran free in the fields and climbed mountains, hiking up in canyons, sleeping in caves above our home.
I collected animals and when the home was full of anger or violence my animals sat outside with me, I have all my life favored animal over human simply because I did not question their love and could trust them.
I loved my giant dad whom having been in the army came home with honors and many scars. I hid from myself his faults at the same time putting my anger on my mom, she actually held us together but was not often patient, she cooked, sewed she was an artist and a farmer but when she tried to teach me music would end up slapping me.
This is a story almost impossible to put into a small space.
As the early years passed we my brothers and sisters became fifteen (the living children),
ten girls and five boys, I was second to the oldest.
When I was five my father a lumberjack had an accident in the forest, he was the biggest lumberjack so he volunteered to take down a difficult tree. When the tree came down it hit the log he stood on throwing him thirty feet up, he came down hitting his head on a rock splitting it, the top skull came down over the bottom half, he was pronounced dead. 30 minutes later his heart started beating.
I explain this to perhaps give a better view of the following years, he came home after five months in a coma. His speech pattern was destroyed so when he tried to say a word it came out wrong, although it seemed he could sing words he could not speak. To me he was a giant gentle father, to many of my siblings he was a violent monster, especially the boys, at times I feared he would beat one of them to death.
We grew up in a small secluded polygamist town, the nearest "gentile".
Town was 50 miles away.
To my mom I imagine life was a never ending nightmare, She had to have truly loved him to have survived, he often had headaches and became violent taking it out on her, she did all she could to protect him and us. Just before she died and after I had married becoming a polygamist wife she explained that his accident had destroyed the part of his brain that knew her and the children so he came from the hospital to complete strangers.
The religious leaders in our town controlled everything from marriage to family survival, at one point we were taken out of the town and moved to a small town because dad was in danger of being put into an institution.
We were moved back because dad had chased a couple of us with a bull whip and people became uneasy.
The crazy thing is that every person telling a story has a different angle of what happened, even how each child was treated told by them can change the history or reality.
| Author Notes | must clean up direction later |
By cbat
depression
impression
possession
pictures
walls
things
people
animals in stalls
bright lights
pretty things
butterflies
finger rings
things for ear
can anyone hear
another minute
another hour
another year
wont endure
don't want more
pink yellow
red blue
purple black
like that
new home
room below
do not go
sadness flow
nothing to do
they can't fix me
i must flee
happy them to be
flower
light
rug
table chair
clothes to wear
put in hair
cover face
put on paste
cover lips
eyes revise
things to hide
fat to hide
cover outside
wine
food
good time
spin on the dime
communication
exahaultation
laugh
go
bend
friend
children
animal
happy
end
dark
cool
locked door
no one knew
leave me alone
won't answer phone
don't look at me
leave me be
lock the door
pills
quickly take
for pain
to sleep
to wake
happy make
no will to take
sit in a coma
mouth open
drool
eyes faded slimy
do not see
nobody home
can't find me
body mass of
loose flesh
cant find parts
not more less
need to move
hurts to walk
can only talk
hurts to sleep
can only eat
hurts to sleep
can only weep
smell
like hell
cant think
cant create
food to take
still must pee
body function
controls me
bills
next week will be better
catch up
no way life
gets better
tomorrow
money to make
money in hand
alone will stand
wills
deals
parents
thanks
left before now
coward
money or peace
for children
no money
no need to stay
must go away
hearts desire
dream supreme
want to die
if i try
must not fail
kids will be well
knowing
expecting
watching
wishing
proud of mom
wanted to be gone
dad was his song
gherri did had to
be done
took to long
did kids wrong
loren secure
left early
loved wanting more
stick around
bad sound
cant stop my wail
this is hell
not just for me
all who see
we all fall down
hear the sound
of all i see
i believe
this earth
i must leave
i know the way
no more to say
car hose pills
drive far away
where do not say
pill paced
amounts spaced
gas in car
must last far
find my place
all my space
no one around
natures sound
dogs by my side
bellies full
no worry inside
no need to hide
never will their pain i abide
kids know i tried
sorry i lied
brain is fried
take your time
will be fine
animals watch
they know
understand
how low
we can go
am proud of you
to brother be true
sister and brother
be kind to each other
dont hurt each other
think of your mother
how must we land
enjoy you lives
live to your full
love time
with family to the full
when thinking of me
laugh with glee
no sad memory of me
you were all
you did not fail
it is in my genes
to weep and wail
you will do better
give in to life
dont count the strife
enjoy your life
give guilt the knife
dont accept strife
do what you must
don't gather dust
don't live in misery
what will be will be
hurt no if you can
be true to yourself
teach kids you can
decisions made
so will not fade
forgive if you can
make peace
woman and man
don't live with hate
your soul it will take
not the fault of
he or she
kids, grand kids
so great
own decisions to make
different paths to take
none better than others
no need to be mothers
don't spend life
just for husband
or wife
this is your life
live how you will
bill can love will
jill will love
who she will
houses
cars
going to bars
the struggle for things
down it brings
take your money
go be funny
laugh smile
waste the time
cost a dime
the struggle
to stay young
forgive what
we've done
need to concede
stop their worry
go out hurry
pretend to play
hide your plan
| Author Notes |
ramblings, this is all it is.
will come back and correct grammar, have to let it go for now. no worries. |
By cbat
First brother of mine
with him I spent time
leaving he found relief
first wife he did loose
tiny baby to raise
wife two praise
more children
they raised
second brother of mine
a leader a teacher
children many
all angry
all he has done
mother cancer
she scum bed
daughters sons
agreeing not one
Older sorry
living alone
Third brother of mine
gentle and learned
teacher he was
for religion
jail he was sent
children many
left to defend
his belief at the end
lost home family friend
found family again
forth big and tall
business his call
wife by his side
children they had
found belief bad
five brother of mine
a wife he did find
children belief combined
wife new life to find
alone left behind
sticking to belief
he gets no relief
where ever he is
thinking brings grief
| Author Notes |
In this religion my family has been scattered, most of us hung on way to long.
Children suffer with torn feelings. My brothers were violent to their children, as their father was to them. |
By cbat
a child confused and sometimes lost
we all pay the cost
searching far and wide what do they feel inside
our precieved protection to some rejection
eager to keep them safe believing in our chosen faith
reluctant to let them go how can they really know
belief is something live and needs to grow
driven from our family life because of religious strife
the world has multiple ways of catching our strays
so much evil so much good they must choose their path
with our love and support they make mistakes and
lives the world takes when we forgive and recieve their forgivness
even when they are gone they stay with us
when we loose one a daughter or son
we may have many but will allways miss the one
we ask ourselves what have we done
could it have been different by something said or done
guilt anger pain and shame they all feel the same
to hold them once more to comfort. Our heart and souls as before there is no fault no one knows from the start
By cbat
First: get started in school, find the thing after high school that you think you will enjoy and try.
Second: take on a homely little mouse as wife
Be kind and charming, you will gain her loyalty through many unspeakable acts.
Third: Be dissatisfied with tools given to do your work in your chosen profession
fourth: Make tools and medications better, using home, family, blood and any other thing available.
Fifth: advertise, always put company before family
sixth: use children and wives well, involving all in the growing of your company.
Seven: Constantly keep company in front, expanding and building.
Eight: Hire your own children, finally paying because they worked by your side since tiny.
Nine: try to keep your wrong doings under wrap by quickly judging and punishing anyone close to being accused of your indiscretion's.
| Author Notes |
This is just the bones of Building a multi million dollar company.
Perhaps I will add flesh and muscle later. |
By cbat
Walking into my sisters home, I see so many things I used to own.
I have been away from home for awhile now, and everything that I used or valued had been given away.
This I handled, it was not important, nothing I had was expensive, just hand downs from others or thrift stores. Even my clothing came from there, I really didn't care.
A small child shows off her new toy, "Hug a Bear" This was my baby of five's favorite toy. She carried it everywhere sleeping or waking, I had to mend it a few times, it was brown and worn.
She never liked dolls only animals when her sister close to the same age asked if she liked a doll, she always said "no I don't like dolls only animals."
I originally took her with me when I left home on impulse, then I sent her to see her dad and she did not return. To take this bear from her, with me already gone was cruel.
I carried hug a bear to my make shift home, an old abandoned trailer in a brother's back yard.
During this time I occasionally received a little money from home, this was spent on my children I was not allowed to see them and so sent them things in Salt Lake.
I ate old canned fruit from the cellar in my brothers back yard, I especially enjoyed the pickles they were so old that they became liquefied inside.
To keep busy I worked most days for 6 to 8 hours for a brother in law, they paid me 3 dollars a day. If I ate a piece of pizza while there it was deducted from this pay.
I spent many hours with sisters. They took care of me when I broke my ankle, and could always turn our time into laughter.
Days when I became out of control, I would put on my music, loud to drown out my sorrow, this was like a magnet for my sisters, they always came dragging me out of my self pity.
Just after finding Hug a bear, my family sent me a very expensive full length fur coat, and quilt that they had in their words "paid a lot of money for."
Such empty things, without kids or much to eat, my anger became out of control, I Hung Hug a bear from the rafter putting a knife through him.
I Put the quilt and fur coat in the bathroom tub and lit them on fire.
Then because I had to breathe I opened the trailer door for the smoke to escape.
This is where my sisters found me again, what did I think would happen?
I did have gin and had drank it all.
They removed everything of that day from my trailer, and I never saw Hug a Bear again.
Later my sister came with bottles of tequila and I returned home with her.
Never to live down my awful sin.
| Author Notes |
Awful story, to even write and look at myself is hard.
To admit to what kind of person I am is more difficult than most things. |
By cbat
FRIENDSHIP
We all go through life with its ups and downs
some folks wear smiles and others wear frowns,
sunshine breaks through like a heartwarming gain
tears roll down cheeks like a walk in the rain.
We can't choose our family, that much I know
but friends we can choose to help us to grow,
to be there in good times and also in bad
help us to smile when life becomes sad.
Lessons we learn are sometimes so hard
leaving hearts broken, shattered and scarred,
with a friend by your side for comfort and care
someone to talk to so your soul you can bare.
A friendship to last for many long years
is something we need through smiles and tears,
as children we play, we dance and we sing
as adults we face some serious things.
Life is not easy, it can be so cruel
so many trials with so many rules,
with a friend by your side who will understand
together face struggles, you'll walk hand in hand.
When dark clouds are gone, blown out of your sky
friends laughing together, no need to cry,
your sun will break through, warming your life
be glad friendship was there through all of the strife.
Say ?thank you my friend, for your care and your love
your sweet nature and friendship, a true gift from above,?
keep your friend close and send up a prayer
asking for friendship to always be there.
| Author Notes |
this was sent to me by my friend Feral.
I would encourage anyone I know to read his work, it shows so much we spoiled americans do not realize others go through. He must publish! |
By cbat
Sorry!
does not stop the pain
bruises and face distorted
what did you gain?
eyes black swollen shut
Body hurting, did he think
this was flirting
Unable to let children see
your fault this you know
because he told you so
comply, you belong to I
Just let me touch you
things I will you buy
When you say no
It's just part of the game
always end's just the same
ashamed he is
here you go again
you understand
I want your hand
No! a word you say
when you want
with me to play
listen and obey
he really wants
you to stay
make him pay
jewellery gifts
every day
| Author Notes |
Physical abuse goes hand in hand with mental abuse.
Many stay with their abuser because they think it is their fault. |
By cbat
When did it start
beating of my heart
new to me
should not to be
leaving me I did cry
sick and reeling
was not healing
she came along
he was gone
seeing him near
hiding like a deer
hole in my heart
when did it start
when he talked
I was shocked
my heart rocked
not even mates
he had dates
my heart breaks
I invested all
answered his call
didn't want me at all
waited for true loves call
now free my heart
miss not a beat
his voice being
just a bleat
he really was a dink
I think
| Author Notes | Poetry has never been a thing I did, but it is fun. |
By cbat
He was a good man
His kidness made my life bearable
He saw my faults and did not feel repulsed
I wanted what was offered
We did not see under the surface
His violence and things born from our agreement
Startled he as well as I
To find reason and excuses was a natural reaction,
Telling ones self this is not the normal it will never happen again
Each new incident had reason and excuse
When the ugly came out we told ourselves all would pass
When we love someone completely it is impossible not to make excuses and believe things will be better, the oppressed become protector of the abused.
Family forgives and covers a loved ones transgressions, becoming completely dependent without free thought of their own.
As years pass someone can fade away the wrongs truthfully trying to get retribution and forgiveness from ones self as well as those he damaged,
Because someone does unspeakable things does not mean they cannot often become good, knowing their wrongs and trying to change
A wife, child friend or family needs this unit and wants to forget the bad.
One can only hope that to forgive and act blind to evil acts will lead to more stable and secure adults, to be reminded of past transgressions stunts growth and stops improvement,
| Author Notes | Looking into ones own mind can get one wandering confused and lost |
By cbat
watching kids grow and learning, then becomming adults having children is both rewarding and sometimes unsettling.
the nature of human beings is to ignore truth if it is not what they want to see.
most people do not realize they are judge and jury to some and completly ignore the wrong doings of another, even to the point of allowing the mistreatment and wrongful judgment of another.
i watch as my children are hurt and used even as adults, they have been split and it will never again be that i will see or have my children together.
because my married life was raising and loving so many children i made many mistakes.
i ignored what idid not want to see.
my husband actually wanted only one wife of three, she was my baby sister five years younger.
what has taken me so long to realize was that from the day he walked into my home to meet me for the first time he did not know whati looked like.
when he walked into the front room he thought he saw three redheads, two of my sisters were natural red heads, my sister was 13 and already strikingly beautiful, she was tall and perfect.
i had just put red highlights in my hair, i hada lazy eye, swollen feet because of a disease, no chin i was a little chunky and had a space in my teeth.
that he managed to treat me like i was wanted was looking back his greatest talent.
he was very agressive and often forceful, i for most of the first five years never out of his sight. everything i wore ate or did he was there.
I was married five years when he married my little sister, this i expected and wanted more than she, he had couurted her since i was married, for many years i denied this seeing only what i wanted to believe.
i ignored his question would your sister like me doing this to her and the gifts he gave her.
ouuur parents were doing all they could to force her to marry him. she i think finally agreed becauuse of me and the idea it was a way out.
most of us did not finish high school and it was considered unnecessary for girls, even although i married a fuly educated man he did not encourage my education,i believe the idea of wives becomming educated would encourage us to become indepenndant.
when he married my sister her refusal to be submissive as i had been showed a part of him i did not think existed. he became violent with her believing he had the right to hit her because she hit him, he seemed not to comprehend the word no.
i did all i couuld to keep her and stophis abuuse. through the next 20 years our life changed.
during this time we both had children sometimes two months apart.
it was never sure when hell wouuld show, her moods were irrattic and many times i couuld not intervine and she was beaten or drugged.
i also did all i could to minimise his attraction to me, telling her she was the one he wanted while he told her he slept with me out of pity or appreciation while only attracted to her.
she realized that i hated being pregnant and so he had to have instigated it, all of my children were accidents.
by the time i was married for ten years he brought wife three. saying he had no choice this time he spoke the truth, she had requested him and her father arranged it, this we did not know until later.
our husband never wanted anyone but my sister, helped him keep her because i loved her and him.
i told myself that it was gods will.
we had children for qwhile close in ages and the third wife had a child close to two of ours in age.
the third wife had been raised with completly different values than us. she was taught that her bloodline was superior and her son would be her husbands favorite.
she said she had watched him and i was nothing and she could take him away from my sister.
we had many faults buut had no comprehension 0f how her mind worked.
if in an argument we ended by sayinng sorry to her this meant she was right.
she physically abused our children buuut pretended she adored them when their father was there.
while he was watching she was loving and sweet, the moment he left her complete continence changed. if shecauught our children heading to their fathers room she would catch them, tuurn them around and push them. as my sons got older this girl accused them of trying to see under her dress.
if while washing clothes a nightgown was hung it was to make her jealous.
if the family went together she ran for the seat nearest him. she thanked me if she did not have to care for our babies while telling me i was her childs servant. she actually staged it to look like she was driven tochoke her own baby. she would get a handful of my sisters hair then yell for our husband to help her.
she did everything possable to destroy the delicate state of my sister,tryinng to prove he had lied to her and pretending her pregnancy was becauuuse he could not resist her while we knew he thought if he got her pregnant he would be able to avoid sex forawhile.
our huusband while thinkinng he could have it all was plainly interested in my sister only,telling her children were more intelligent and better in all ways.
to give her credit she did not physically abuuse my children although as the years went by they recieved much verbal abuse.
the things this third wife did i would never have believed or realized if it had been only two of us.
i do not tell these things trying to defend the husband, but as with all of us we were not all bad.
this girl broke the good we had in ouur life delibetly and fully knowing what she intennded.
she had a diary with an outline of her plan.
she had two children, they were often mistreated and she was always less fond of her oldest because she wanted a boy first.
i hat this silly philoposy that if a person cared,fed and changed any infant she could not help but love them. i was so wrong, even while a child is nutred and cared for another can put doughts and break trust.
no one in this family was uunndamaged, most days while pretending we had a great life and were better than most we fought an unending battle. he became more violent and she became more irrattic, our children basically took care of each other, i treated herchildren better than my own.
i thouught hers i couuld loose, mine i could not. at one point i lost all, i ran away thinking my children were better off without me and i had no way of supporting them. i believed that they would be loved if i was gone.
after a few months my sister came down talking me into returning, there was no way for me to explain why i had left without causing more anger and it could not fix things.
my sister knew why, her statement telling me to get home and take care of my own damn kids
she shocked me and and i did something i would have sworn i would never do, also our husband would never have expected it.
he expected all to go back to him being with me if he choose, after a few days he persuaded me to let him touch me, saying all the right things; he missed me he liked me being inhis arms, heliked the way i wiggled when he spooned, he loved and wanted me.
such fools we, hewould never give up either of us but he if having to choose would always stanback letting her say awfl things, by saying nothing he showed what was important.
nice things were done, twice my personal space was designed, and nohing changed in his attitude.
he tried to maintain a physical relationship with both this was impossable even before i left my sister was beginning to like himandhe spent money to keep her.
the violence did not stop but the less i was around him the better, after my first nightwith himon omming back, she attacked me hitting me with aphone.
i lost allrights in cooking ilost the ideathat i could,in raising even my own i was wrong .
this went on for quite awhile with the third wife in the middle doing all shecould to cause my sister to go over the edge. by then she had completly lost her right to demand anything from him.
this muchto do with me finding her diary in which she wrote about destroying my sister and becomming his only lover.as my sister began having more problem she did all she could to make it worse.
the violence was often and between women as well as himalthough he always hit my sister the most, on us other two he did not care, and i blocked hertrying to causemore problems although irealized he andshe could never stop as long as i was living with them. she saw how he looked and acted around me,whatever his excuses she knew he wantedboth of us.
another horriffic fight with all adultssent me running, but istopped andinstead movedinto an apartment on the same land.
this helped but ntilthe second other wife left therewas stil bad times these never stopped untili forced him to agree to divorce, he hadalways said he could not bcause i was the legal wife and would destroy them. our divorce was completly handled by him i agreed to it all, he thught i would live where i was abnd promised to fixm place.
he soon roved this was untrue andi left, loosing mysisterschildren and mostrights of my own.
By cbat
I can see her at about two years old sitting in a mud puddle, mouth wide open crying, Big brown eye's so sad. I pulled her out of the mud to wash, and console. She was unique in her coloring; we the fifteen kids were different shades of white some with freckles some alabaster white, she was a patchwork almost squares of creamy light brown and a little darker brown.
As she grew she became beautiful, almost 6ft tall, light brown hair and sad big brown eyes, her checkerboard skin coloring from light brown to squares of lite darker cream.
When pregnant we used to say she looked like a Christmas tree, because her top smaller than many of us graduated into a fanned out larger belly.
These sisters shared the problem of being unable to find shoes made for girls, their feet were some bigger than many men, (just their feet).
When she came to our home, dressed up and put on heels, it intimated most men they having to look up.
Although you cannot show me a little man that doesn't seek the leggy girl.
She was the number twelve, her mother still having babies. She with three younger siblings.
She often turned to her oldest sister (also my older sister whom had babies of her own) to seek mothering.
When she was about twelve she came to stay for a short time at my home, I had children and much going on.
I still question our way of handling of her actions.
One day I gave her a spanking.
We discovered that because of her sexual abuse there were different effects on kids having gone through it.
Thinking that the child would have an aversion to boys and men if sexually abused, we were surprised when this child reacted different. When we had boys or men staying with us, she was drawn to them striving to get their attention in inappropriate ways. We had to watch her constantly to protect her and company.
By the time I became aware of the ordeal she went through most of us had left home, I much further away. I came home only occasionally.
Mom was struggling along with dad just to get up in the morning and she eagerly counted grand kids.
Mom explained to me that when my little sister started second grade she noticed that this little girl was acting strange. She was checking doors and windows locking them, she was restless in sleep.
Mom talked to her;( even so many years later Mom cried, shuddering at telling me what she learned from her small child).
She said a big boy had hurt her, Mom asked how? And this little girl said "he peed in my dinky". With no way to misunderstand this, mom investigated.
The second grade children were "tutored" by older classes, in one class the teacher having a challenged child, and wanting to give such children every advantage, allowed another child quite large such as this to participate in tutoring. He was able to take a little girl out of class when he asked, saying he was there for tutoring.
Many of the little girls when questioned admitting they had been tutored by him and described him taking them to the basement and their removal of panties. They were all terrified to tell, they often tried to help my sister get away.
Needless to say this "challenged" boy was removed.
This did not take away the damage done to little girls, though they did sleep better.
When she was married she did not know or have a choice as to who she was "placed" by. The "Brethren' would contact parents telling them who their daughters would be married too. This uneducated monster she was placed in marriage with; told her he was afraid to have sex with her because of the experience she had in second grade; she could have a sexual disease. Unfortunately her good luck in him not wanting her did not last.
When she was married she would describe the experience she had when her husband decided to honor her with sex.
" Each time he did this, I closed my mind and went somewhere else until it was over".
As the years went by. Many times she came seeking help with her problems. One time she said the husband punished children of hers by sticking their heads under hot water. Other times she tried to kill herself.
Her sister wives reacted differently toward her; one being also badly treated you would think would be kind, not so-instead it seems the abuse just instigated more abuse.
The other wife had experienced her first husband's death, marrying her husbands brother without being given a time to grieve. This brother wanting her to like him, favored her and her children over all others.
He resented my little sisters children and made sure she and they realized it.
Much later in our lives my sister with children came to visit my home. I had children of my own. I also was in a situation that gave me a need to change.
By this time, We (other sisters and I) were struggling to know how to help her. Many times we tried to stop her abuse. She would come to us crying for help but when we tried to help she would back out and publicly accuse us of manufacturing the problem.
We realized this was through no fault of her own a problem and we had to be careful. She had become a liar and trouble maker to us, telling many untrue stories after spending time at our home's.
She would seek to tell anything that would give her attention. We found although we felt sympathetic and knew the terrible wrong this girl suffered she was impossible to help or trust.
Here we are so many years passed. Me having left my troubled life.
Only part of my family have broken away from the belief in the religion.
This child leaving because she was rejected, her children cast out. Her husband dumping her by instruction of the leaders.
I see her on television, telling her story. So much true-so much not. This making me want to throw up.
I follow her wishing her the best but still careful of her, knowing I cannot trust her.
She is okay receiving the help and attention she needs for her and children.
She has returned to where she was born. Recent ally she has been able to take back her home that she lived in after marriage. Perhaps she has been given enough help to stay away from this damaging religion.
I fear for her; Because at one point she stated she would return if the husband ask her.
Hopefully the time she and her children spent away they have learned enough to happily survive.
| Author Notes |
This a horrible story the sexual abuse happening's have effects on the victims that last through a lifetime.
When the abused child does not receive help, a recovery can take a lifetime. |
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