That figures. Once I tried to talk with my terribly abusive psychopath mother about the awful and sick things she did to me. She became very angry, denied that she could ever do anything wrong and would not hear anymore of it. That was about 3 minutes into the "discussion." When you try to talk it out with somebody like that you end up being victimized by the asshole all over again. I feel for you.
Sorry Don. From your stories, it's obvious that your parents were "do as I say, not as I do" kind of parents. Not really conducive to honest communication. Sorry, Don.
My parents loved to share family history, but were limited in their story base. Mom's parents were both orphans, so she grew up without knowing any relatives. Before she converted to Moism after marrying my dad, she was doing her own genealogy starting at age ten in efforts to find her family. She amassed quite a number of names, without stories to go with them.
All of those names she amassed were eventually added to SLC for temple work. Her patriarchal blessing told her in the eternities her ancestors would come to her and thank her for doing their work for them. (That's a crock!)
What she didn't know that I've learned since she died is our Jewish ancestors were astute genealogists in their own right. My Israeli cousin whom I had the good fortune of meeting (online) in 2011, introduced me to his Jewish database of family history. He's compiled dozens of mini-biographies on many of our ancestors and some still living. He passed away last year. Without making his acquaintance I'd be so much more in the dark than I am now.
If you have an interest in your family history, Don, you can start researching it yourself (despite your parents lackadaisicalness.) That's how I was able to learn much. Once you start researching online with all the resources available today on the genealogy sites, you link with other genealogists who are often times cousins. They are only too happy to supply you with their resources, and shared heritage.
For my Israeli cousin, he didn't get started until he was in his 60's. Then it became like another vocation for him during his retirement years. He became a docent for the Tel Aviv Diaspora (genealogy) museum for several years. I've met several cousins via online who are genealogists. We've swapped family stories.
My point is you may find you can access those resources likewise for your family tree.
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2018 07:45AM by Amyjo.
What I mean by shared history is our personal history that we lived in the sixties and seventies. I know my ancestors.
But I wasn't allowed to talk about the way I was raised. That subject became taboo over the years, because they couldn't figure out how to make amends. The repressed memories just started breaking out, and I began to write about them.
My parents didn't have a lot to say about those years either, truth be told. They divorced in the 70's. Our family became splintered as some kids went to live with either parent.
That was our 'forever' family coming apart at the seams. My parents went into survival mode, while us kids became collateral damage.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2018 08:26PM by Amyjo.
Morons ofttimes don't like to revisit the past - or even to visit it - and the same goes with the future. Hell, they don't even like to discover the present - so busy with church creep crap - time-out.
There is something that I didn't realize (didn't even know it was a possibility) until within a few months before my Mom died...she actually DID NOT REMEMBER some critically important, physically and emotionally abusive, things she had done to me when I was growing up.
It wasn't like she was declining mentally, because until, maybe, 48 hours before she died she had the same mental faculties as she had always had, except that she had forgotten (and I think she genuinely HAD forgotten) the extremely abusive things she did to me when I was growing up---and when, maybe three months before her death, and in response to something she said, I reminded her of something she did that I had never forgotten, she was visibly taken aback, and then said: "I really did THAT???" When I affirmed that she had, she believed me, but it was obvious to me that she literally did not remember...and she didn't remember the other stuff either.
From that I learned that abusive parents (and I am including my father here, too) may, later, literally not remember the abuse they were responsible for (even when they know that your words are the truth)...even the stuff that most anyone would assume that "no one" (absent Alzheimer's or some similar condition) could ever forget.
I am sorry Don...my heart feels so sad when I read your words about what happened to you when you were growing up.
None of it should ever have happened to you, or to your siblings, and I am very sorry it did.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2018 08:41PM by Tevai.
I feel for you don. My parents won't admit they did anything wrong even though i had plates smashed over my head. They still go through that temple like saints and i go to counseling as a damaged man.
When we children of abusive perfectionist deluded controlling narcissistic parents try to have meaningful relationships with them we end up feeling like "damaged goods" instead of loving people who disagree about things like religion.
It sucks to feel that way.
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 03/05/2018 12:55PM by Elder Berry.
Mine too, Don. And not just my parents, my whole extended mormon family.
I didn't find out my g-g-grandpa was a polygamist (and that I came from the line of wifey #2) until I was in my 40's. Nobody in the family would ever talk about it. Even at family reunions, where descendants of g-g-g's wives #1 and #2 would meet up, it was never discussed openly.
When I found out, a bunch of other "forbidden" things about good old g-g-g came to light. Like him naming one of his sons, born two days after the MMM, after William Dame. Like him being in the Parowan "Nauvoo Legion" at the time of the MMM, and possibly participating in it (and, at the very least, helping to cover it up).
The other side of the family was the same. One of my uncles(brother of my mother) was in prison in Utah for having killed his son in a notorious Utah crime in the late 50's, and nobody would ever talk about that, either.
"Some things that are true aren't useful..." They took all that to heart.
I have the opposite. Family records go way back and there are stories in print about many of them. By way back, I mean to 1620 here in America and back to 1066 and earlier in Europe. I am only nine generations back to 1620.
My parents were never angry with us. I remember that in my life I was only spanked one time and that was because I insisted on it because my older brother got spanked and I felt left out. I never saw or heard of another spanking. Period.
My parents never demanded we go to church but I did on my own: not a Mormon church. I was brought up to be good, kind, honest, etc. I was brought up to associate not only with people who were well off, but also with the poor, those who were rejected, bullied, etc.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/05/2018 05:11PM by rhgc.
My TBM Mom has no recollection of dragging me into the women's restroom for numerous spankings during sacrament meetings. However, now she has fond memories (even amusing to her) of storming out Tuesday night's RS meeting to see her son and a friend that had climbed up to the top of curtain on the stage. "Messy, you and George were just like a couple of monkeys. So cute!" That's the part that she chooses to remember.
She's conveniently forgotten about George's mother threatening to break our arms and legs after we climbed down from the curtain. George's mother also told us not to fall because she wasn't going to the ER if we did. That night we both got spanked on the stage in front of the entire RS, then again in the restroom.
Selective memory is the one symptom of The Cluster B’s that got me to write a multiple page essay on both my parents’ personality disorders. I then mailed it to them, along with a threat of restraining order if they did not respect my wishes.
about my dad. He was very abusive to 2 of my brothers. The other brother was disabled and my youngest brother was abused basically I believe because my disabled brother was always blaming him for anything bad that happened. Or he'd tell my dad that his younger brother called him "retard" or something.
My dad did regret what he had done. He never did apologize to my youngest brother, but my older brother had a hemorrhagic brain bleed in his 40s and my parents took care of him. My dad gave him IV medications, etc., and then my brother made it possible for my parents to live at home until they died as he would walk over to their house and spend the day doing dishes, etc. My brother could no longer drive, so my dad would limp out to the pickup and he and my older brother would drive to the farm twice a day and my brother was there to help him. They were at peace with each other when my dad died.
My parents always remembered. My mother often felt guilty for many things that she should have given up long before she died. Thankfully, they listened to me when my life blew apart, though were taking care of my brother when that happened, but they listened.
I can say that I miss them every day. Thankfully, I had a good relationship with them both at the end. My dad was mean to all of us at some point and I still remember times he was very mean to me just because he was upset about something else.
I feel like one of the lucky ones when I read some of the things here and especially what you post. My dad was NEVER all that mormon, so we didn't get the insanity of mormonism heaped on us like you did. AND the money went to his family. And he left enough to take care of his then 2 disabled sons when he died.
Sometimes it doesn't matter if the victimizer wants to talk about what they have done. More important is that you have found your voice to speak the truth about your experiences.
Both my parents were "inactive' Mormons. Neither ever told their six children that they loved them. (This is something I have made sure I tell my children.)
My father was very critical of his children (and wife), to the point that I thought I must be unlovable--a feeling that haunted me a long time.
But, he knelled down beside his bed every night to say his prayers, and told us of the time, as a lad, when he almost got killed by a car while crossing the street, if it hadn't been that God protected him.
He also 'gave-up' on me regarding my intellect, and just accepted that I was dumb and nothing could be done about it. (It turned out, later, that I must have been dyslexic, as words would change before my eyes when I read.)