Eh, I should explain...
When I was eight years old my dad died. Mom, god love her was not a confrontational woman at the time.
From the moment I was born my brother hated me. He believed that the attention that my dad showered on me had somehow been robbed from him, some fifteen years my senior. He believed that my dad loved me more. Since I was adopted and not his "real" son I simply did not rate.
After dads death, my brother spent the next eight years tormenting me every way he knew how. He would toss me across the yard like a ragdoll. A former police officer, he also knew all the ways to be psychologically intimidating to a young boy and later an adolescent. If my body wasn't being assaulted my mind was.
My brother ruined most of my life. First with what he did and afterward when I'd become old enough and tired enough to be defiant, through the legacy that kind of life leaves people like me. I spent 22 years either being hit or looking for someone that would hit me. It was what I knew.
So when I see a single mother, balling her eyes out behind a dumpster because she's terrified for her little boy, who was thrown into a fence because someone does not know how to act like a responsible mature adult. When he tells the boy that if he comes outside he'll be hurt, badly...
my hands shake and my entire being starts coursing with mad blood.
I cannot believe that this particular rage is unjustified.
I want to be kind.
I am kind, aren't I?
Please don't think less of me for what' I've said. No musclebound hero here. No victim either. Victims are people that haven't realized the why of their situation.
But damn it. Someone HAS to take responsibility, someone HAS to say no.
Once, I'd have pulled the stars down for anyone who would have done it for me.
I hope this explains, at least a bit.
From the moment I was born my brother hated me. He believed that the attention that my dad showered on me had somehow been robbed from him, some fifteen years my senior. He believed that my dad loved me more. Since I was adopted and not his "real" son I simply did not rate.
After dads death, my brother spent the next eight years tormenting me every way he knew how. He would toss me across the yard like a ragdoll. A former police officer, he also knew all the ways to be psychologically intimidating to a young boy and later an adolescent. If my body wasn't being assaulted my mind was.
My brother ruined most of my life. First with what he did and afterward when I'd become old enough and tired enough to be defiant, through the legacy that kind of life leaves people like me. I spent 22 years either being hit or looking for someone that would hit me. It was what I knew.
So when I see a single mother, balling her eyes out behind a dumpster because she's terrified for her little boy, who was thrown into a fence because someone does not know how to act like a responsible mature adult. When he tells the boy that if he comes outside he'll be hurt, badly...
my hands shake and my entire being starts coursing with mad blood.
I cannot believe that this particular rage is unjustified.
I want to be kind.
I am kind, aren't I?
Please don't think less of me for what' I've said. No musclebound hero here. No victim either. Victims are people that haven't realized the why of their situation.
But damn it. Someone HAS to take responsibility, someone HAS to say no.
Once, I'd have pulled the stars down for anyone who would have done it for me.
I hope this explains, at least a bit.