Chapter 2: God Was Close

Part 1, "Innocence Lost"

Fathers, do not embitter your children - Col. 3:21 (NIV)

Do not have sexual relations with both a woman and her daughter - Lev. 18:17 (NIV)

> Snow falls quietly in massive, heavy flakes and crochets an opalescent blanket over the lawn. I'm warm inside as I watch from my office window. How silent and clean it is. Ever wonder how some people can live in such an amazingly wondrous world and only see the ugly?

> You will find this chapter disturbing; child abuse is always disturbing. Abuse of a sexual nature leaves canyon deep scars that never disappear.

> There is no need for details beyond what is needed to convey the meaning of the text. I will make every effort to keep my literary as tasteful as possible (if, in deed, it can be called "tasteful" at all). It would be great to inject some humor along the way, but the idea feels awkward in light of my subject.

> About the time I turned ten years of age, in an effort to provide her children with more, Mother remarried. It was a second marriage for her but a third for him. I don't think she truly loved him, not the way she loved my father. Not until this day; writing this text, at this moment, did I realize how much he looked like my father. Darken his hair and shorten him by six inches, they could have been brothers. He did lack the outward playful nature of my father.

> He had a good job and a car. We went on family trips. He made purchases at auction for the household and gifts for Mother. He was friendly with Pop. He didn't take us to church or say grace at the table. Looking back, I don't remember him ever saying anything about God - or Jesus. The family unit changed with a father figure at the head of the table during supper and breakfast on the weekends. Interesting: Pop had never took that seat preferring to stand and serve during meals. (I suspect Pop ate after all of us were finished.) He went fishing and hunting with Pop and my uncle who lived next door. His parents had a wonderful farm with lots of animals and I loved to visit there; darling, accommodating people.

10 year old author

> I was first to set the example of accepting him into a role that each of us children needed. I was the first to call him "Daddy". This thought sickens me today. That soon changed. I will not write his name because I came to detest the name whether borne by him or any other man. I came to sicken myself at his personal habits and preferences; like ketchup on eggs and sugar on tomatoes. To this day, I cannot bear to be in a room with a man smoking a cigar.

> This man made use of both my sister and me for a couple of years. There was never a thought on my part that he had involved her. As a child, I remember thinking, "At least he isn't bothering Karen". He frequently visited me at my bedside after the house was asleep and Mother was at work on late shift. Karen and I shared a room and that left her subject to my vocal pleas of "No, please don't, stop it, I don't want to." He would softly chasten, "Shhhh" "You'll wake your sister", "You'll wake your grandfather", "This is our secret." "We don't want anyone to know". "YOU"LL get in trouble."

* To be continued . . . 

* This continuing story begins with the post on Dec. 30, 2024

See "Entertaining Angels Unaware"

 

 

Chapter One, EPILOGUE

The memory of a moment stays with us for a lifetime - Unknown
 
We need not destroy the past, it is gone - John Cage
 
> It was the dawn of color television and the Howdy Doody show, Ed Sullivan, poodle skirts, saddle shoes, drive-in theaters, the jitterbug, jukeboxes and candy buttons on paper. The milkman delivered to your door and the family doctor still made house calls. Women stayed home, wore aprons and cooked Maypo for breakfast. It was convertible cars, the polio vaccine, home perms and Alaska became a state. It was Elvis, Mickey, Uncle Milty and American Bandstand. We caught pollywogs and fireflies, played hopscotch and jumped rope to Double Dutch. It was the magical time of childhood wonder and innocent discovery.
 
> Sorting through old photos and stirring memories reveals nothing especially noteworthy about my first eight years on this earth. My childhood seemed, then and now, not to be unlike any other child's.
 
> Adults have little understanding of the influence they possess on the lives of young children. In many ways, we become imprinted by those who are the strongest personalities in our young lives. It is said from birth to four are the years that set us on the course of who we will become. I am sure Mother, Pop and Mother Carmichael left their mark on me, in one way or another. Our development through early life is part nature but also part nurture.
 

I looked like a little boy without my bonnet.

> There were a few struggles for, and within, our little family. All families struggle with internal and external relationships. We learned give and take. Jerry and I were very close as children but, one occasion, our tempers were so riled during a physical altercation that we threatened each other with knives. Grandfather stopped that little drama before it turned tragedy. The next day, we were trying to fight each other's battles or defend against a common enemy. We grew through all of it.
 
> Back then, God was the invisible friend I talked to and the subject at church. My life was about friends, school, fishing, parakeets and dress up. Children are truly blessed to have their own world and a direct line to the ear of God. Children are indeed on God's priority list. Need prayer? Ask a child to intervene for you.
 
> We are tested daily. The greatest trial in my first nine years was overcoming not having a father. When a parent leaves or gives up a child, that child's small world insists this is their fault. Children take these huge burdens on themselves. Until he left, I was "Daddy's Girl". After he left, I craved the comforting male attention I had grown used to. This had a huge affect on my life for many years to come and is still part (albeit smaller) of my emotional baggage. He left an unfulfilled hunger in each of his children. My sister and I yearned for the paternal presence that is the role model for a girl's choice of male relationships. My brother just wanted a father's guiding hand and approval for a "job well don, son".
 
> A large part of my character is defined by my mother's heart. It cannot be explained any other way - example is a great teacher. What do we know of giving, if not witnessed by us of those we admire? What does anyone know of compassion without suffering?
 
> I believe that God listened to this child from the first time I called on Him, wishing upon a star in the night sky at the very early age of 4 years. He hears every word from the lips of a child. Let me state right here and now, there have been a few times when I felt lonely, but I cannot remember any moment when I felt alone - ever.
 
> There are no coincidences, no accidents in God's perfectly ordered universe.. Everything in the life of a believer happens for a reason. As you continue to read my story, you will see why I have come to believe this way. Our lives come together in the end for a divine purpose.

* To be continued . . .

* This continuing story begins with the post on Dec. 30, 2024

See "Entertaining Angels Unaware"

 

One Negative Thing

 The only negative . . .

thing I can say about Pop: he was a bigot. I remember some terrible stories he told and comments about other peoples that made us laugh and wince at the same time. Grandpa had been in the Second World War, and there was a family rumor that he had even been a member of a very well known subversive group. All his names for Italians, Germans, Black People, Japanese, and more, were new to us. (Interesting fact: Grandpa's family had roots in Creole country.) Even at our young age, we found his comments embarrassing though in the privacy of our own home. Mother is the only reason I can give that none of Pop's theories influenced us. She never saw any differences in human beings. We just accepted it as how Pop was; that was not us. We all make excuses for those we love.

 

I never knew him to go to church but for one of my weddings and his funeral. I never knew him to read the Bible or heard him say a prayer. To his credit, he never spoke against Christianity, though he had his own definite opinion of other religious sects. I can attest to him as a believer. I remember an occasional mention of God, or heaven when he talked to us. It was always matter-of-fact as though that is just the way it is; God is God and He is. 

 

> > > > > You do not have to be a saint for God to use you. < < < < <

 

Let me interject right here that I do not remember grace being said at our daily meal. A short blessing was given at large family gatherings on holidays. My husband and I do not begin a meal without thanks for and blessing on our food, at home or in public.

 

I adored my grandfather. Every time he left the house, I needed to go with him. I was his shadow, taking three steps to every single stride of his long gait. I hung on his every word and believed every story he ever told. He never took anything for himself and gave everything he had to Mother. His undershirts were riddled with holes and he went barefoot all summer. He wore white painters' pants that were spotted with a rainbow of color blotches. In just a couple years, he would save my sister and I from the greatest terror of our young lives.

 

Jerry and Pop were never as close as either would have liked but Jerry respected him. I remember comments my brother made as an adult; always with great respect and admiration for Pop.

 

 

 

What all of us learned and received from this man cannot be priced in any way. The wisdom he taught and the laughter he injected cannot be measured. I could tell stories for days from memories I would not give up for any prize. He lives on in our memories and through our lives. It broke my heart, years later, when he had to be admitted to a veteran's nursing home and this old man cried for me to take him home with me. (I find myself in tears just at this writing.) He died there from his third stroke - or giving up. I am so sorry, Pop.

 

There is no death, only a change of worlds. . . 

Chief Seattle, Duwamish Indian.

 

* This continuing story begins with the post on Dec. 30, 2024

See "Entertaining Angels Unaware"