I understand how your monster still peeks out and shows itself to you. Mine appeared consistently, on cue, and always effective in the decades long battle. In my experience you simply have to lay down your sword and walk away. He's a ghost now and will eventually get bored and stay up in the attic if not engaged. Way easier said than done.
Thank you, Michael. Yes, this is usually the worst day of the year for me. I was doing fine until the sibling chat group got rolling (they’re mostly in MDT). My coping plan is to meet up with a buddy for cope-ious amounts of beer this afternoon.
Honestly that sounds like an excellent strategy. I shall raise a glass in your general direction later, though I was blessed to have the polar opposite experience.
Heartbreaking. No one should have to endure this, Bill.
I just heard an NPR interview with Loubna Mrie, a Syrian photojournalist who lived with a violently abusive father. Her memoir “Defiance” might resonate.
MG, Bill. After reading your post, I went back and re-read Accidental, only to find that the clues about "the belt" were there, about p. 30, but that I had read right over them the first time. My childhood wasn't violence-free, but yours -- far worse than anything I ever experienced, or imagined. I don't know how you didn't write more about this in Accidental (except that you have the discipline of a good writer), and I don't know how you can control yourself in writing about it now. In the end: good on you.
I definitely underplayed it in the book, but I didn’t want readers to get too hung up on that so early. Also, I suppose I often underplay it in real life too.
My Mom was mine! She would always say,"why can't you be more like the Shuns"! The last time I was hit by my parents, was the day I hit back!. The verbal abuse never stopped until my Dad passed and my Mom became senile! Dhe is nice now. It almost bothers me worse, because I am waiting for the insult to follow!
I hope I did better than my parents! I know I tried! I know my parents did the best they could with what they had at the time! ignorance is not a reason for forgiveness, but it does help a little.
I really think I have forgiven them. But something strikes a chord and I am mad again! life is funny that way!
I love my kids with all of my heart but I wasnt perfect either. But hopefully better! way way better ( utah speek)
I think of you as brilliant and amazing Bill! I always will!!! sending love on this day and everyday
Oh no, Susie, I'm so sorry to hear this! We really, none of us, know what's going on in the houses around us. I'm so glad you're in a better place now.
I’m sure it’s hard to put it in the past, but your writing about this horrific childhood certainly must help those in similar circumstances to know they are not alone.
Shit. I've seen you touch on this subject before, and not just in the book. I never envied your childhood, but I didn't realize it was this bad. I remember there was some discussion about you online, and the OP said something about how your dad "sounded like he was a real jerk". You saw it and were taken aback by that assessment, then wrote an article or post somewhere defending him, at least to a degree. But now, I'm reading this and seeing the word "monster". Has your opinion of him changed or were you just in a different mood then?
It’s all very complicated. As I indicate in the piece, my dad had plenty of good qualities, and he certainly wasn’t a monster to everyone. Unfortunately he did not frequently choose to spend the best parts of himself on his interactions with me. I guess I was being held to some higher standard than the rest of the world. It’s not that my opinion of him has really changed, just that with greater age comes a clearer perspective on what could have been different and how unwarranted his words and actions could be. I know he could have done better because I saw him do better with other people’s kids. He kept after me to repent even on his deathbed. I don’t think he ever really understood what he did to me, despite many attempts to explain it. Eventually I gave up trying. So yes, to me his most enduring identity was monster.
We never did get the full story on your post-Mission life in Utah before you left for New York. I can't imagine how the conversation went when you "came out" to your parents. That was the chapter of "The Road to Apostasy" I was looking forward to.
I can identify with your plight though. I also grew up under the roof of someone people praised, people who had no idea what went on in our house, or in the car on vacations. I wasn't beaten as often or as severely as you were, but I, too, learned to fear a certain angry face. Even though I cried when he passed, I had a REALLY hard time writing that eulogy.
I can give you a spoiler, though, and tell you that in June 1995, when I was living in Provo, I packed up all my shit one night and left town without telling anyone. I wasn't quite an apostate yet, but that only took me about another six months. I landed in Brooklyn that October, met a couple of key people, and soon realized that I was out. I told my parents in a letter from 2000 miles away, not face-to-face.
I just saw the AMA. I'm sure every expert in the field would tell you that's not how you should have handled it, but that's exactly how I would have.
I hope I haven't oversold my own experience. It was nowhere near as awful as yours must have been, especially when I got older. All the crushing strictness I was raised with as a child suddenly vanished halfway through high school, and he just let me go nuts. Of course, he probably knew there was a limit to how nuts I would go, even left to my own devices. At least, I know I earned his trust. But it does seem like the lion's share of how strict he was and his worst temper tantrums were a direct result of his fanatical devotion to the faith he was baptized into when I was five. That did nothing to push me out of the church, but it sure made it more satisfying to give them both a resounding "fuck you".
I still live near the chapel I gave my mission farewell talk in. I flip off that building every time I pass it during my nightly walks. In my own family, we even started a tradition. Any time we were on our way to someplace fun on Sunday, if we passed the chapel while church was in session, we'd all yell, "So long, suckers!"
I think that's exactly what happened. I was a TBM all the way back then. Most of the things I was supposed to shun (no pun intended) weren't even a temptation for me. The few times I slipped out of the house at night was to go to the midnight movies. I'd go straight to the theater, then straight home, then straight to bed. Would you worry if that was your teenage son's idea of sneaking out?
The wildest it ever got was the first time. I was so eager, I got there way too early. So I ended up driving around aimlessly, rocking out to my tapes until the box office opened. That couldn't have lasted longer than a half-hour.
My mom later told me she heard me leaving, but never busted me. And why would she? She may not have known where I was going or what I was doing, but she knew I wasn't going to come home drunk, stoned, syphilitic, or drenched in goat blood.
I understand how your monster still peeks out and shows itself to you. Mine appeared consistently, on cue, and always effective in the decades long battle. In my experience you simply have to lay down your sword and walk away. He's a ghost now and will eventually get bored and stay up in the attic if not engaged. Way easier said than done.
Jeez, Bill. I am so sorry to hear all that. This day must be very very hard.
Thank you, Michael. Yes, this is usually the worst day of the year for me. I was doing fine until the sibling chat group got rolling (they’re mostly in MDT). My coping plan is to meet up with a buddy for cope-ious amounts of beer this afternoon.
Honestly that sounds like an excellent strategy. I shall raise a glass in your general direction later, though I was blessed to have the polar opposite experience.
🍻
Heartbreaking. No one should have to endure this, Bill.
I just heard an NPR interview with Loubna Mrie, a Syrian photojournalist who lived with a violently abusive father. Her memoir “Defiance” might resonate.
https://www.syriaintransition.com/en/home/archive/issue-32/defiance
This memoir sounds like quite the harrowing odyssey!
MG, Bill. After reading your post, I went back and re-read Accidental, only to find that the clues about "the belt" were there, about p. 30, but that I had read right over them the first time. My childhood wasn't violence-free, but yours -- far worse than anything I ever experienced, or imagined. I don't know how you didn't write more about this in Accidental (except that you have the discipline of a good writer), and I don't know how you can control yourself in writing about it now. In the end: good on you.
I definitely underplayed it in the book, but I didn’t want readers to get too hung up on that so early. Also, I suppose I often underplay it in real life too.
My Mom was mine! She would always say,"why can't you be more like the Shuns"! The last time I was hit by my parents, was the day I hit back!. The verbal abuse never stopped until my Dad passed and my Mom became senile! Dhe is nice now. It almost bothers me worse, because I am waiting for the insult to follow!
I hope I did better than my parents! I know I tried! I know my parents did the best they could with what they had at the time! ignorance is not a reason for forgiveness, but it does help a little.
I really think I have forgiven them. But something strikes a chord and I am mad again! life is funny that way!
I love my kids with all of my heart but I wasnt perfect either. But hopefully better! way way better ( utah speek)
I think of you as brilliant and amazing Bill! I always will!!! sending love on this day and everyday
Oh no, Susie, I'm so sorry to hear this! We really, none of us, know what's going on in the houses around us. I'm so glad you're in a better place now.
I’m sure it’s hard to put it in the past, but your writing about this horrific childhood certainly must help those in similar circumstances to know they are not alone.
Wishing you peace (and a good nights sleep). ❤️
Yes, he was a monster. Monsters seem to be part of the human condition. Why? Impossible to know.
You are not, and you are healing. Your writing helps us all. Love to you on Father’s Day and everyday.
Shit. I've seen you touch on this subject before, and not just in the book. I never envied your childhood, but I didn't realize it was this bad. I remember there was some discussion about you online, and the OP said something about how your dad "sounded like he was a real jerk". You saw it and were taken aback by that assessment, then wrote an article or post somewhere defending him, at least to a degree. But now, I'm reading this and seeing the word "monster". Has your opinion of him changed or were you just in a different mood then?
It’s all very complicated. As I indicate in the piece, my dad had plenty of good qualities, and he certainly wasn’t a monster to everyone. Unfortunately he did not frequently choose to spend the best parts of himself on his interactions with me. I guess I was being held to some higher standard than the rest of the world. It’s not that my opinion of him has really changed, just that with greater age comes a clearer perspective on what could have been different and how unwarranted his words and actions could be. I know he could have done better because I saw him do better with other people’s kids. He kept after me to repent even on his deathbed. I don’t think he ever really understood what he did to me, despite many attempts to explain it. Eventually I gave up trying. So yes, to me his most enduring identity was monster.
We never did get the full story on your post-Mission life in Utah before you left for New York. I can't imagine how the conversation went when you "came out" to your parents. That was the chapter of "The Road to Apostasy" I was looking forward to.
I can identify with your plight though. I also grew up under the roof of someone people praised, people who had no idea what went on in our house, or in the car on vacations. I wasn't beaten as often or as severely as you were, but I, too, learned to fear a certain angry face. Even though I cried when he passed, I had a REALLY hard time writing that eulogy.
Oh, man, I'm sorry to hear that. I think the terror of wondering what might set them off when is nearly as bad as the violence itself. Maybe worse.
Did you ever see my Reddit AMA from, er, ten years ago? Someone there asked about "Road." Here's what I said about never finishing it: https://www.reddit.com/r/mormon/comments/3rpk13/comment/cwqtwcf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
I can give you a spoiler, though, and tell you that in June 1995, when I was living in Provo, I packed up all my shit one night and left town without telling anyone. I wasn't quite an apostate yet, but that only took me about another six months. I landed in Brooklyn that October, met a couple of key people, and soon realized that I was out. I told my parents in a letter from 2000 miles away, not face-to-face.
I just saw the AMA. I'm sure every expert in the field would tell you that's not how you should have handled it, but that's exactly how I would have.
I hope I haven't oversold my own experience. It was nowhere near as awful as yours must have been, especially when I got older. All the crushing strictness I was raised with as a child suddenly vanished halfway through high school, and he just let me go nuts. Of course, he probably knew there was a limit to how nuts I would go, even left to my own devices. At least, I know I earned his trust. But it does seem like the lion's share of how strict he was and his worst temper tantrums were a direct result of his fanatical devotion to the faith he was baptized into when I was five. That did nothing to push me out of the church, but it sure made it more satisfying to give them both a resounding "fuck you".
I still live near the chapel I gave my mission farewell talk in. I flip off that building every time I pass it during my nightly walks. In my own family, we even started a tradition. Any time we were on our way to someplace fun on Sunday, if we passed the chapel while church was in session, we'd all yell, "So long, suckers!"
That’s quite a change in attitude. You think you just reached an age/maturity where he felt you were responsible for yourself?
All very healthy reactions to the church buildings! I do frequently hiss when we pass the church down the street from us.
I think that's exactly what happened. I was a TBM all the way back then. Most of the things I was supposed to shun (no pun intended) weren't even a temptation for me. The few times I slipped out of the house at night was to go to the midnight movies. I'd go straight to the theater, then straight home, then straight to bed. Would you worry if that was your teenage son's idea of sneaking out?
The wildest it ever got was the first time. I was so eager, I got there way too early. So I ended up driving around aimlessly, rocking out to my tapes until the box office opened. That couldn't have lasted longer than a half-hour.
My mom later told me she heard me leaving, but never busted me. And why would she? She may not have known where I was going or what I was doing, but she knew I wasn't going to come home drunk, stoned, syphilitic, or drenched in goat blood.