Dear Readers: 

When I was growing up nothing seemed to be child abuse in my home. It was just the way things were and that was that.  My Mom adopted me when I was 9 months old and she raised me in her own way.  She was the boss and that was that, no questions would be asked nor any explanations given. 

In today's times my parents would be charged for the way they disciplined me. Back then no one seemed to care the way they do today, at least not in my mind. The Children's Aid let kids go to homes that were not checked out as they are today.  Family and neighbours did not stick their noses into other people's business either -- they should have. 

If I got the strap at school I got it twice as bad at home.  If I was made to stand in the corner at school I had to stand in the corner at home for twice as long with my hands behind my back and my nose touching the wall. 

If I spoke back to my Mother I got a backhander in the mouth. 

If I did not do as I was told when I was told I got hit with whatever she had in her hand. That could be a wet dishcloth, a yardstick, a pot she picked up off the counter, a stick picked up off the ground, a skipping rope, the razor strap, etc. If she could reach it she used it. 

I was raised with the belief that kids were seen and not heard unless spoken to. If my parents had company I stayed outside and did not come in the house until called. If the weather was bad I had to stay in the living room and read or just be quiet like a good girl. 

I was not allowed to speak at the table unless it was to ask for something to be passed to me.  I ate what was cooked whether I liked it or not.  Mealtime was for adults to talk about their day. If I broke a manners rule at the table I got smacked across the hands with the yard stick my Mother kept across her lap or the fly
swatter. (I secretly broke her yardstick a couple of times and hid it but she always seemed to find out and buy another one). 

One time my Mom made sauerkraut and I hated it so much -- I spoke up and said "I do not like this and I do not want it". My Mom picked up the plate and brought it down over my head and said  "Then wear it and you get nothing". I was covered in sauerkraut and went to bed with no supper that night. There were many nights I went to bed without supper for whatever infraction I had committed. 

Another time I did not like the sandwiches she put in my lunch pail for school so on the way to the school bus I threw them in the ditch in a puddle. My Mom found them when she went for the mail that morning. When I came home she put them on my plate for my supper and made me eat them. They were of course wet and soggy and I gagged my way all the way through them. However, I ate them. Never again did I throw my lunch away until after I got to school. I learned a tough lesson. 

I slept on a cot in the living room because our house was very tiny and only had one bedroom and a small attic. My parents had the attic room and my mother's mother had the bedroom. I had to fold my cot up each morning and put it away in the closet. Each blanket had to be folded properly and put in the closet as well and I would remake my bed each night. If my blankets were not folded properly they would be in the driveway when I got home from school lying on the ground. I would have to pick them up and shake them out and fold them and put them away.

If clothes were found on the floor of my closet they too were thrown out in the driveway and remained there until I came home from school to pick them up. I learned at a very young age to keep things tidy and neat. 

I got caught playing doctor with the little boy next door once and I got one heck of a beating with a piece of wood my Mom picked up off the ground and then was locked in the outhouse the entire day. When someone had to use the outhouse I stood outside and had to go back inside when they were finished. I was in that outhouse from about 1 in the afternoon until suppertime at 6 that night. I never played doctor again. 

I can remember being awakened from sleep at 5 in the morning because I forgot to chop kindling wood the night before so my Dad could start the fire in the woodstove in the morning when he got up. I would have to go outside regardless of the weather and chop kindling and bring it in for him. 

Like I said, back then this was normal to me because no one ever intervened and no one who was present ever stopped my Mother from spanking me or yelling at me. 

I was about 12 when I realized that my adoptive father’s touching me in private places was wrong. I learned it at school during health class. I went home and told him if he ever touched me again I would tell. He never touched me after that. 

I could tell you stories that would curl your hair but I will not because they are now in the past and I have dealt with them.  My adoptive parents are now gone and regardless of anything that happened I loved and respected them so I will refrain from telling of any other abuse. 

However, there are times when the night is silent and a memory will flash past me and I remember all too well some of the abuse. 

Please do not abuse your children. Don't scream at them or call them filthy names. Don't beat them.  The bruises may heal and the words may fade away, but the memories will last forever. Sometimes a certain sound or a certain smell will bring back a memory long hidden in the closet of a child’s mind. Ask me -- I know.

God Bless, 
Misker