The Monster Has Two Faces

(Dean Paul: The Deacon.

Biographical Series About My Childhood. This story deals with domestic violence.)

My mother was a religious woman, and Dean Paul followed suit soon after they married. He moved up rather quickly in the Missionary Church that the family started attending. 

Meanwhile Dean Paul was bringing home treasures from the railyard that he was stealing off boxcars. There was a cornfield next to the church, and on a few occasions, he would have us kids steal corn from the field before we left the church parking lot for home.  

In the beginning, Dean Paul was good at compartmentalizing and hiding various aspects of his life. This led to his promotion to the church board as a Deacon. Deacon Dean was very proud of his position. 

Now, when he spanked us he would spout scripture. He would sit us all down and spout scripture at us for hours. Dean Paul and my mom went to Ecuador as missionaries. 

They wanted to take us children on the next trip so they brought in an eighteen-year old woman named Carmen to teach the family Spanish. That ended when my stepfather started sending Carmen love letters and the pastor had to step in. 

A boy from church named Bobby started ‘courting’ my older sister, Diane. During one Sunday sermon Dean Paul caught Bobby and Diane kissing in the sanctuary balcony. Deacon Dean chased Bobby through the parking lot screaming, “I’ll Kill you, you mother *&%#$*. I’ll murder you you dirty son of a *&%#* ! Half-the church observed the un-Godly spectacle. 

On another occasion, a man gave his emotional testimony in front of the whole church about how he had defeated pornography and his addiction to masturbation. Christians are a forgiving people. 

Dean was not. After the service, he announced in the lobby, with much ado, that he would not be shaking the hand of the former masturbater. Comical now, but embarrassing then.  

Initially, we had thought that mother was unaware of Dean Paul’s violent nature. But she had seen things. On a couple of occasions someone had beaten Dean into a parking spot. Oh boy!

The first time it happened the person had left the car running. (It was the seventies.) Dean Paul got into their car and moved into the driving lane and took the spot. The second time, he pushed the car out of the spot with his bumper. 

On the third occasion, he chased a young man into a grocery store and started beating on him until my mother pulled him off. They had to flee the store for fear he would be arrested, 

When Lisa, the youngest child turned five, she got ahold of Dean Paul’s tape measure and was playing with it. We were not allowed to touch anything of his, but she didn’t know any better. 

Lisa saw his rage and ran from him, but he caught her on the steps and started beating her backside with his fists while screaming incoherently. My mother had to pull him off the kindergartener. 

A few years into the marriage, mom became the focus of his anger and Dean Paul started hurting her. It began mildly with harsh grabs of the arms that left bruising but graduated into full-on choking that nearly left her unconscious on many occasions.

Dean Paul was a devout enigma. Two doses of church on Sunday and a healthy dose of wife beating on Monday, followed up by verbal abuse for us children the rest of the week.