Letter to Confront Parents
JamesMichael
Registrant
Feedback and Comments concerning the following proposed letter to my parents would be much appreciated: (names have been changed)
Dear Mom and Dad,
This letter is a follow-up to the Thanksgiving incident between Mom and John [my brother], and to address Mom's phone call to me then. Many things have been buried deep inside of me for far too long. I want to set the record straight between us in some way and so I want to start with some of my earliest memories.
An older neighborhood boy sexually abused me when we lived in the projects on Allen St. I don't know his name. I was just 4 or 5 years old. He used to take me behind the building where there was a wooded hill, make me pull my pants down, and lie down on the ground. He would then lie on top of me. I remember worrying about the cars going by and being seen. Mom would say something about my dirty underwear. Another time, there was a grassy level area also behind the projects. Bigger boys had put cats in an oil drum and lit them on fire. Frank [another brother] was there. I was very scared.
Michael [another brother] sexually abused me too, as you know. I don't know when he bagan doing it, but it ended in the spring of 1965 when I was 8 1/2 years old. I was in 2nd grade and was making my first communion. I cried in the little bedroom because I had come to realize that there was something horribly wrong about what Mike was doing to me, but I didn't know how to describe it. Mike said that he would stop it, and that if anyone were going to go to hell it would be him. i specifically remember a time when he had me in bed with him in the large bedroom next to yours...in the bed closest to the door. I was sucking his penis. His was big and hairy 'cause he was 15 or so years old, and mine was little 'cause I was just a little boy. He heard the noise of someone coming upstairs and he told me to be still and let me come up for air from tunder the covers, and it was Dad, drunk, walking past the open bedroom door on his way to the bathroom. There were other tiimes when he sexually abused me, and so I want to make at least tow points: 1). The abuse did not happen BETWEEN Mike and me. It happened TO me. Mike is six and half years older than I am. He knew what he was doing. I did not. (I am enclosing a picture of me from that time. Imagine me doing sexual things to Mike who is six plus years older. It's disgusting. It's criminal). So, when Mike or Mom say that it happened between us...they're dead wrong. I had no say in it at all. I was too young to have any say about it. I was told by hime to keep quiet, not to tell anyone, that is was a secret. 2). I did nothing to deserve the abuse. 3). And where were you when all of this was going on? Dad was FREDQUENTLY drunk. Children are to be protected. I was not protected either in the projects or at home from this abuse. It was your job to see that these things did not happen to me (and probably to my other brothers) especially since you had such abusive childhoods yourselves. For whatever reasons, you tolerated the things going on around you, or orverlooked it 'cause you didn't know what to do about it...or maybe even didn't believe that it was wrong...or maybe even didn't believe that is was wrong. I don't buy the line that you had six boys and the "boys will be boys thing." I lost my innocence, my childhood was taken from me. I was a protector, especially of John. I remember watching out for him even as a small child...concerned that he would be sexually abused in the woods at the end of our street or beyond, at the ball field at the top of the hill...because I knew it went on there...didn't you?
When I came home nearly twenty years ago and confronted Mike with this, not much was really accomplished because even though he admitted to it, you didn't own up to the part that you played in not keeping me safe. I am making clear some things about what hnappened to me as a small boy growing up under your care, how I feel about it, how it has affected me, and where things stand today.
Dad,
I was sad to hear from John a few months ago that you were raped in the orphanage. Since I was sexually abused too, I understand more of what life has been like for you. It is a horrible thing, it should not have happened to you, and you certainly didn't do anything wrong to deserve that or other kinds of horrible treatment. However, you had six sons and were responsible for making sure that the same thing didn't happen to them. You failed me. You medicated your pain for so many years with alcohol that you were mostly unavailable emotionally. I cannot tell you the number of times Mom sent me to the bar to get you for dinner, or to tell you to come home. Sometimes I would call on the telephone. Once, while I was in high school, you were so drunk that you sped up Spring Ave. and jumped the curb and drove on the sidewalk between the telephone pole and someone's hedge. A small child was playing in the yard. The mother was beside herself with fright and walked to our house to yell about it. You had driven to the front of our house, thrown the car into park, yelled at someone to park the car, and went in the house to fall asleep. The poor mother was beside herself... as was I. You don't like to hear this, I'm sure, but you were always drinking a six pack and falling asleep on the couch. You'd get into arguments whenyou were drunk or very playful. You never remembered anything the next day. I remember you picking me up at school with the smell of beer on your breath, and being so embarrassed. I wish I could say that I have wonderful memories of doing things together, or you listening to me, and of you being there for me. But I can't. Even though, as you said in a note to me about 10 years ago, that you and Mom did the best you could raising six boys, I think there's more to the story. Sometimes, you or Mom have said that you didn't have the money for this or that or for one of us, but really it's not ever been just about money. It's been about guidance, sharing, talking, spending time together, protecting. When I was in 7th or 8th grade, and going to a friend's party, you said that if I got hard I should just put (my penis) on a talbe and hit it with a bottle. Rarely, have I ever had a full conversation with you either in person or on the telephone. You say, "here's you mother." I don't really know who you are. I know some things about you. I know about the orphanage, you being in California, and the carnival. It confusing. I remember once when Grandma visited. You and she had had an argument in the car on the way from the bus station to our house. You wanted to know from her where she had been all those years you were in the orphanage. [She was in prison for bigamy]. You were not satisfied. Likewise, it's sad that I've not felt close to you...that I seem to have to be more understanding of you and your life than you have been available in mine. Afterall, you're the father here.
There's been a lot of trauma and pain in your life. And you haven't gotten much help with it. That makes me sad. It makes me sad for you and for me 'cause you not getting help to heal kept you unable to keeep me safe or to help me. The pains in your life help to offer an explanation for the hurts in my life, but they're not an excuse because you are responsible for your actions as I am for mine.
******************
That's it for now. I'm spent. I'll finish tomorrow or Thursday. Thanks for reading. I know it's a lot. I have to send this letter...for me.
JM
Dear Mom and Dad,
This letter is a follow-up to the Thanksgiving incident between Mom and John [my brother], and to address Mom's phone call to me then. Many things have been buried deep inside of me for far too long. I want to set the record straight between us in some way and so I want to start with some of my earliest memories.
An older neighborhood boy sexually abused me when we lived in the projects on Allen St. I don't know his name. I was just 4 or 5 years old. He used to take me behind the building where there was a wooded hill, make me pull my pants down, and lie down on the ground. He would then lie on top of me. I remember worrying about the cars going by and being seen. Mom would say something about my dirty underwear. Another time, there was a grassy level area also behind the projects. Bigger boys had put cats in an oil drum and lit them on fire. Frank [another brother] was there. I was very scared.
Michael [another brother] sexually abused me too, as you know. I don't know when he bagan doing it, but it ended in the spring of 1965 when I was 8 1/2 years old. I was in 2nd grade and was making my first communion. I cried in the little bedroom because I had come to realize that there was something horribly wrong about what Mike was doing to me, but I didn't know how to describe it. Mike said that he would stop it, and that if anyone were going to go to hell it would be him. i specifically remember a time when he had me in bed with him in the large bedroom next to yours...in the bed closest to the door. I was sucking his penis. His was big and hairy 'cause he was 15 or so years old, and mine was little 'cause I was just a little boy. He heard the noise of someone coming upstairs and he told me to be still and let me come up for air from tunder the covers, and it was Dad, drunk, walking past the open bedroom door on his way to the bathroom. There were other tiimes when he sexually abused me, and so I want to make at least tow points: 1). The abuse did not happen BETWEEN Mike and me. It happened TO me. Mike is six and half years older than I am. He knew what he was doing. I did not. (I am enclosing a picture of me from that time. Imagine me doing sexual things to Mike who is six plus years older. It's disgusting. It's criminal). So, when Mike or Mom say that it happened between us...they're dead wrong. I had no say in it at all. I was too young to have any say about it. I was told by hime to keep quiet, not to tell anyone, that is was a secret. 2). I did nothing to deserve the abuse. 3). And where were you when all of this was going on? Dad was FREDQUENTLY drunk. Children are to be protected. I was not protected either in the projects or at home from this abuse. It was your job to see that these things did not happen to me (and probably to my other brothers) especially since you had such abusive childhoods yourselves. For whatever reasons, you tolerated the things going on around you, or orverlooked it 'cause you didn't know what to do about it...or maybe even didn't believe that it was wrong...or maybe even didn't believe that is was wrong. I don't buy the line that you had six boys and the "boys will be boys thing." I lost my innocence, my childhood was taken from me. I was a protector, especially of John. I remember watching out for him even as a small child...concerned that he would be sexually abused in the woods at the end of our street or beyond, at the ball field at the top of the hill...because I knew it went on there...didn't you?
When I came home nearly twenty years ago and confronted Mike with this, not much was really accomplished because even though he admitted to it, you didn't own up to the part that you played in not keeping me safe. I am making clear some things about what hnappened to me as a small boy growing up under your care, how I feel about it, how it has affected me, and where things stand today.
Dad,
I was sad to hear from John a few months ago that you were raped in the orphanage. Since I was sexually abused too, I understand more of what life has been like for you. It is a horrible thing, it should not have happened to you, and you certainly didn't do anything wrong to deserve that or other kinds of horrible treatment. However, you had six sons and were responsible for making sure that the same thing didn't happen to them. You failed me. You medicated your pain for so many years with alcohol that you were mostly unavailable emotionally. I cannot tell you the number of times Mom sent me to the bar to get you for dinner, or to tell you to come home. Sometimes I would call on the telephone. Once, while I was in high school, you were so drunk that you sped up Spring Ave. and jumped the curb and drove on the sidewalk between the telephone pole and someone's hedge. A small child was playing in the yard. The mother was beside herself with fright and walked to our house to yell about it. You had driven to the front of our house, thrown the car into park, yelled at someone to park the car, and went in the house to fall asleep. The poor mother was beside herself... as was I. You don't like to hear this, I'm sure, but you were always drinking a six pack and falling asleep on the couch. You'd get into arguments whenyou were drunk or very playful. You never remembered anything the next day. I remember you picking me up at school with the smell of beer on your breath, and being so embarrassed. I wish I could say that I have wonderful memories of doing things together, or you listening to me, and of you being there for me. But I can't. Even though, as you said in a note to me about 10 years ago, that you and Mom did the best you could raising six boys, I think there's more to the story. Sometimes, you or Mom have said that you didn't have the money for this or that or for one of us, but really it's not ever been just about money. It's been about guidance, sharing, talking, spending time together, protecting. When I was in 7th or 8th grade, and going to a friend's party, you said that if I got hard I should just put (my penis) on a talbe and hit it with a bottle. Rarely, have I ever had a full conversation with you either in person or on the telephone. You say, "here's you mother." I don't really know who you are. I know some things about you. I know about the orphanage, you being in California, and the carnival. It confusing. I remember once when Grandma visited. You and she had had an argument in the car on the way from the bus station to our house. You wanted to know from her where she had been all those years you were in the orphanage. [She was in prison for bigamy]. You were not satisfied. Likewise, it's sad that I've not felt close to you...that I seem to have to be more understanding of you and your life than you have been available in mine. Afterall, you're the father here.
There's been a lot of trauma and pain in your life. And you haven't gotten much help with it. That makes me sad. It makes me sad for you and for me 'cause you not getting help to heal kept you unable to keeep me safe or to help me. The pains in your life help to offer an explanation for the hurts in my life, but they're not an excuse because you are responsible for your actions as I am for mine.
******************
That's it for now. I'm spent. I'll finish tomorrow or Thursday. Thanks for reading. I know it's a lot. I have to send this letter...for me.
JM
