Welcome to my life.

This story begins at my first memory. I will take you back to me being 2 years old. I was living in Milwaukee, WI. It was Christmas eve late at night and the house was silent. As I crept down the stairs I hoped to catch a glimpse or a glimmer of Santa Claus. As I stood there at the top of the stairs the white Christmas lights the only thing illuminating the house I saw him. Santa Claus. As I stood on the stairs eyes wide and the lights shimmering and dancing around the room I watched him as he ever so gently put the presents one by one under the Christmas tree it was a miraculous sight for such a young boy. He turned and looked at me and I ran back to bed. That is my first memory of my father. The good memory. I am happy that it’s my first because so many memories after were so bad, but I will get to that later.

As a young boy growing up I was a little more than your typical boy and a little more of a handful. I was always acting out in strange and bizarre ways. Cussing at teachers getting into fights, bullying people my parents always thought that I would never grow out of this phase of mine. My mother worried constantly that I was going to grow up and end up in jail or worse. I had a fairly normal childhood growing up, holidays with the family, birthday parties, and good times. But what people saw from the outside was not always what it was like on the inside. My father was an alcoholic and a drug addict to boot. He was never home either always working or always drinking. Some nights my mother would bundle my little brother B., my older brother T., and I up get in the car and search for him all night just driving around. I always felt like he didn’t want to be a part of the family and he hated me, which he reinforced throughout my childhood. Between being emotionally, physically, and mentally abused by my father and being molested by my baby sitter I was off to a rough start in life.

The sexual abuse started around when I was 2 (I choose my first memory as the Santa Claus one because it is happier than my first true memory) let’s call him Jerry. Jerry would take me over to his house to babysit me and that’s where the abuse happened. My actual first memory is in his basement sitting next to his father who we will call tom because I honestly don’t remember his name. Tom was not a good man by any means he had molested all his children victimizing them so for all I know Jerry could have thought it was a normal thing to do. My first memory is sitting in a dimly lit basement next to Tom he had one of his daughters, Holly, standing on a green fold out card table dancing in her underwear atop the table as he watched. Next to the card table were an old washer and dryer with the door missing off it. I remember this as if it was yesterday. He told Holly to come down off the table, a girl of only 4 years and made her and I do stuff as he watched. At that time, I did not know I was doing anything wrong but he told me that if I told anyone my mom would get hurt. Eventually my parents found out about it and it did stop but they never called the police. For reasons, I do not know. I believe this when my father started to resent me. Later on, I would find out that my father was molested by his uncle and never told anyone but my mother and that is where I get my conclusion from.

From that point on my father always looked at me with disdain always finding a reason to single me out from the rest of the family, I bore the blunt of the abuse from him. He started beating me when I was 2. The first time was when I had taken chocolates he had bought for my mother and I ate them. My mother tells me she came home to my father holding me up by one arm and beating me for taking them, my mother grabbed me and left. Eventually she came back and things were fine…... for a while.

When I was four I remember, the beatings getting more severe and little more creative. Eventually I learned that if dad was mad stay out of his way or I would get hurt but sometimes he would come looking for me. My brothers never got it from him, it was somehow always my fault what had happened. Until I was four he never used a “weapon” not that sometimes I didn’t deserve it I am not playing victim here by no means. Eventually I learned to wear multiple layers of clothing when my dad was around. He would spank me until I cried, and that is what he would say, “I’m not gonna stop hitting you til you cry” so I learned to cry on cue. He got wise to my layered clothing quickly and after that it was always bare bottomed. Sometimes when he was really mad he would grab an extension cord, or a belt, or pretty much anything he could get his hands on to hit me with. It was always worse when he drank. It wouldn’t matter if his friends were there or not, if my mother wasn’t there, there was no one to protect me. My father even allowed his friends to smack me around and make fun of me but my father didn’t start the emotional and mental abuse yet just the physical. He would say things to me like, “you probably deserved it” or “you’re a liar and I don’t believe you”. His friends Jimmy and Rob would come over and tease me, feed the other kids but tell me I was too fat and didn’t need to eat, that I had enough fat to last me and I wouldn’t starve. Then they would take a hot dog bun and put it on their finger and act apologetic and tell me they’re sorry and here is some food. but it wasn’t food it was them playing a mean, cruel joke on a little boy. This seemed to always happen when my mother wasn’t home she wasn’t there to protect me from these monsters of people abusing and hurting her little boy. My mom was my protector, my fighter, my advocate.

When I was 5 years old I was diagnosed as ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyper-Activity Disorder) and Bi-polar. I was put on a plethora of medications to calm me down the first was Ritalin but that just turned me into a zombie. I had to see a therapist three times a week. I went through so many it was hard to keep track. I would talk to them about the abuse going on at home and how I felt scared of my dad but none of them seemed to care except one. When he tried to do something about it the police would believe my dad when he said, “I’m just disciplining my son”. I didn’t feel like his son I felt like his whipping boy, that I was nothing and would never be anything to my father. I would go to school covered in bruises from where he would either snatch me up really hard or smack me all over. The schools did nothing they never even asked. Maybe the teachers just thought “well boys are being boys” or they did not care, but that’s the Milwaukee public school district for you. I had teachers in school that would make fun of me. The one that sticks out most predominantly is Mr. Quincy at Hartford elementary. He was terrible to me and my parents didn’t believe me because I tended to tell tall tales. This grown man, would push me down the stairs if I was moving too slow, drag me around by my ears, call me porky the pig, and fat boy. At the mere age of five I wanted to kill myself. Eventually after my older brother witnessed this we changed schools because they would not fire him.

I’m 6 years old now living in Milwaukee, WI. I am now assigned a social worker to check on my well-being. Her name was Elizabeth and she was the first woman outside of my family to show compassion towards me, so I latched onto her. Elizabeth was a sweet woman about 28 years old with black hair, brown eyes, a jovial face, and freckles. She was a god send to me always making sure I was okay but it didn’t stop the abuse. At this time the beatings were coming almost daily some deserved some not. When I would get beat and it hurt and I would cry my father would push me into the ground put his knees on my chest, and cover my face and mouth so I could not breathe and would tell me how he wants to kill me and he would not let me breathe until I passed out or stopped crying. He started doing more things to me now like bullying me around, pushing me, glaring at me. I could feel the hatred coming from my father the man I loved so dearly, I yearned for his affection. An I love you son, or a hug but I never received it. The only affection I was receiving this house was from my mother. At this point in life I constantly thought about suicide and how peaceful it must be. I dreamed of being in a better place far away from here somewhere with a father who would love me and care for me. I was acting out for his affection. I started think, “it’s bad now but it could always be worse.” It wasn’t always bad though at this age we took a road trip my brothers and my father to Nebraska to visit my grandpa who was a sweet old man. I remember this, it was the first time I seen MT. Rushmore. As I stepped out of our van I stepped on a pricker bush and my father pulled out the thorns. This is the first act of kindness I remember from my father.

I am 7 now still living in Milwaukee and I am allowed to be outside as long as it is with my big brother. I learned the longer I stay outside the less I get hurt. So, I was outside all the time, rain sleet, or shine. It was a good time to be alive. I would stay out from sun-up until after the sun went down and the street lights came on. This was safe for me. It made me feel safe to be with my older brother and outside away from my dad. The beatings started to lessen but were still frequent but I always had that mindset, “it could be worse”. At this age, I was allowed to travel by myself sometimes as long as not too far and this is when I discovered church and god. I would attend Sunday service ritually it was a safe place and I made friends. It kept me away from home when my mother wasn’t around and it kept me safe. I would go and learn new songs meet new people. But at this age I also learned church isn’t always a safe place. They had a bus that would pick us up and drop us off at home and usually on the way home we would get a treat of some sort which was always exciting for me because I loved food. My preacher would never give me a snack stating I was too fat to have a snack and I didn’t need it (and as I am writing this right now I can only think that there is no way this true especially coming from a preacher, but sadly it is). I switched church’s shortly after that. My family never attended with me because they didn’t believe in god and they still do not.

I’m 8 years old now and we have moved out of Milwaukee to a place called Hartland. It was like I walked into an entirely different world, wide open spaces, the air smelled funny not like Milwaukee air and it was smelled like cow manure (a smell that I have grown accustomed to). I met new people and new friends went to a new school. The first night in our new house we all gathered around in the living room and slept on the floor in sleeping bags because our stuff hadn’t arrived yet it was December 1st 1997. The teachers were nice to me. Mrs. Bilkey was my third-grade teacher and she was sweet to me. The first nice teacher I have ever met. But with this new strange place came new rules, even though it was safer there than in Milwaukee I wasn’t outside as much I didn’t have a lot of new friends because we were considered poor and it was a pretty upscale school with a lot of children to wealthy parents. I was labeled and stuck with it, which was fine this is when I started to become a loner. I found a new way of passing the time and distracting myself. I discovered music. In our house the previous owners left an upright piano. I decided to start tinkering with it one day and started to learn how to play the piano and learned that I could play by ear. I didn’t know it at that time but I had found a new passion, an escape from reality. Everything was great for a while I don’t remember too much from this point in my life besides the music. The funny thing about it is that I had asked my mom to take violin lessons and she told me, “no, I won’t like it and I will quit it like I quit everything else” boy was she wrong.

Let’s skip a year I’m 10 years old now still living in Hartland. The physical abuse starts to worsen. My father starts to punch, choke, and kick me at this point in my life. He also picked up a few new tricks. Mental and emotional abuse. I had chores now such as doing the dishes or cleaning up the kitchen like any normal kid, but the chore I enjoyed was cleaning the bathroom. I loved for the bathroom to be cleaned I would clean it for hours. It was a quiet place and nobody bothered me in there. The dishes were my least favorite and they resulted in the most abuse. If I were to clean the dishes too slowly in my father’s opinion he would slam my body into the counter, slap me in the face, slam my head into the counter or throw me on the floor and start punching and kicking me. If I was washing the dishes fast enough but the water wasn’t hot enough for his liking he would throw me on the floor and beat me, drain the water, get the water as hot as it would go then fill the sink. It often left my hands red and raw. This was a time in my life when the suicidal thoughts came back but I kept on thinking it could be worse. There are children with no homes, no roofs over their heads, what’s being physically hurt if I have a warm place to stay. I started comparing my life to the book of job or a child called it at this time. My mom still worked long hours and was barely home trying to support 4 kids and make payments. I wished she would have been home more. One night my dad punched me in the face and gave me a black eye. I was sitting on the back porch crying when my mom came home. Mommy my protector, my savior. She saw me sitting there with my face in my hands and rushed over to me and made me look at her. She saw my black eye and demanded I tell her who did this to me. When I told, her she packed her stuff and grabbed me and left we stayed at my grandmothers for a while. Eventually things calmed down and we went back home my mom still worrying about me around my dad but money needed to be made to have a home, a car, food for our bellies. This is what started my mom thinking about divorce and I felt like it was all my fault. Things calmed down for a while like they always did and a few months later December 14th 1999 my world completely changed. It was a normal winter day and I had missed the bus like I had so many times before so I took my older brothers bike and rode it to school which was no big deal. After school let out I had forgotten about the bike and rode the bus to the house. A few hours later we were sitting in the living room it was about 6 o’clock and starting to blizzard outside my older brother starts complaining about how I took his bike to school and didn’t bring it home. I told him I would bring it home the following day but my dad decided to make me walk to the school in the dark, while it was blizzarding and retrieve what I had left. I went to the front hall put on my boots and goose down jacket and began walking the three blocks to the school. I had to walk on the shoulder of the road because we didn’t have sidewalks out there and the snow was too deep on the grass. I get to the school and retrieve the bike and start to ride it home on the shoulder of the road towards traffic like I was taught. Little did I know at this time my world was going to change in only a few short moments. The next thing I remember is a flash of light, my stomach hurting and me lying in the dark. What I can remember of this night was, as I was lying there I could only think, “I think I just got hit by a car, I think I’m okay” as I stood up and took a few steps I thought, “well I should tell my dad what happened.” As I walked I noticed there was a bright light shining on me from above and a bright light shining on my house. I didn’t think twice about it and started walking. When I woke up I was in the ICU at children’s hospital they had transferred me there while I was in my coma which lasted three days. When I woke up I saw my father standing there in the doorway to my room. I could tell he was tired. I could tell he was stressed and worried. My dad loved me. I remember looking at him and as he stepped towards me he told me, “I’m so sorry” I turned over and fell back asleep. The next time I woke up I had an entire room full of people. It was my class and the basketball team. I thought I had no friends. I thought I was alone, but here were so many people showing me that they care. That I wasn’t alone, I had support. Little did I know that at that time the community came together in my time of need. The house wives would cook dinners and bring them over for my family and take care of my siblings while I was in the hospital which I am thankful for. I got presents. Tons of presents (not that I had not before). It was amazing to see the community come together in such a time of need.

I left the hospital on December 24th but I should have been there longer. The doctors didn’t want to see a kid miss Christmas which I am thankful for. When I left the hospital, I had piles of get well soon cards and handmade cards from kids in the school which I still have today. When I got home my father treated me differently the abuse stopped, but I was in a wheelchair. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t use the bathroom by myself. My parents moved my bedroom into the living room so it was easier access for me and placed a toilet next to my bed. I had to use bottles to pee in because I couldn’t stand. That never stopped me from being rowdy and rambunctious. I was still a handful even in the wheelchair which I was in for 3 months. I had to go to physical therapy it was a rough time for me, I had to use a walker when I had enough strength to support my own weight then I moved to crutches. Sometimes my parents my mother included would get so frustrated and angry that I could not walk, that it wasn’t progressing fast enough that they would leave me at the hospital. I remember several times my father leaving me for PT and forgetting to pick me up so I would sit there and wait in my wheelchair. It was a tough time to be a kid.

I’m 11 now. I don’t live at home my parents sent me away because “I was a bad kid and needed help”. I moved around from foster home to foster home but nobody wanted me and I kept being moved until I found a place I fit. Their names were Randy whom I affectionately called dad and Elizabeth who wanted me to call her mom but that wasn’t happening a way, no how. I guess it really hurt her feelings that I wouldn’t but nobody could replace my mom and nearly anybody could replace my dad. Eventually Liz didn’t want me there anymore and I got moved to a boy’s home in Wittenberg, WI. It wasn’t a bad place up there but I did miss my family a lot. The had several complexes on campus including a school and dining hall. Oh, did I mention they had a cell block for when kids acted out. These were some dark days for me. A lot of the kids there had been sexually abused and there to get help. My counselors name was Chuck Daily. Chuck was more of a monster than a therapist he wasn’t there to help kids, he was trying to exploit them and prey on them. I remember my sessions with him they were harmless and we talked often but eventually they turned into something else. One day during our session we got on the topic of hitting puberty and how it’s natural to masturbate, which was a fine enough topic it wasn’t pornographic. Chuck then requested that if I do masturbate to record it with a voice recorder and return it to him. I couldn’t believe I had just heard. A man that was supposed to be there to help children, to protect them was requesting such a perverse thing from a child. I no longer went to Chuck for counseling I chose a different therapist and told my parents and other counselors but we were considered troubled youth and were not believed easily.

The day is September 11th 2001 a day that will never be forgotten. I was 11 still in Homme Home in Wittenberg. It was morning and I was in class with Ms. Darcy doing my math work in the basement classrooms when Kim her father ran in the room and said, “come quickly” then ran back up the stairs. We all followed suit and ran up the stairs and into a small room with a television on. All I saw was billowing smoke coming from the world trade centers. It shook my foundation and terrorized me all at once. I started thinking, “how can this happen”. Just as I sat down and started to watch the screen I saw another jet fly into the second world trade center. I was in awe and fear. I watched as the people screamed and ran. This stuck with me for life.

I’m 12 now and I FINALLY GET TO GO HOME. I had my anger issues in check and I wasn’t acting out anymore. My parents were separated at this time. My dad didn’t want to be around me and he didn’t want me to come home he was very out spoken about that. I came home with my garbage bag full of clothing and set it down in the living room, I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be back in MY home. Almost immediately my brothers start to antagonize me and pick on me like brothers do trying to get me angry, but I was better. I didn’t need to get angry, I was home, I was happy. My dad wasn’t living at home and had no intention of seeing me. He moved to Milwaukee and let me other siblings come over but never me which I was fine with. It was the first time in my life that I was at home and not afraid of being hurt. I still believed it was all my fault that my father and mother had split up I knew it deep down inside. I started attending a “special” school for all boys which was a fancy way of saying a bad kid school, I did not belong. Through the years of attending I met some unforgettable people who had mentored and helped me through my life and my hard times. These people actually cared.

I’m 13 now still in Hartland, still at the same school. My parents decide to get back together again to try and work things out. I was happy, but I was scared again. I hadn’t seen my dad in a long time and I had hoped things would be different but they weren’t. The abuse started again but it started off small with him making remarks like, “you’re so fat you don’t have a neck” or “you disgust me just look at you” boy was it good to have him home. NOT. It was okay for a while I could take the emotional abuse and roll with the punches, literally. But eventually it started back up again. It started with the chore beatings again, it was just like old times and I was scared again. This time I would fantasize about suicide, the thoughts danced through my head all day. As much as I wanted to die, I couldn’t. I thought of how much it would hurt my mom and I never wanted to do that to her she had been there for me. She stopped the abuse. She physically stood in the way of my father protecting me from him. Why she didn’t leave him sooner I don’t know.

I’m 14 now and my parents are divorced. Still blame myself but what kid wouldn’t. my mom couldn’t stand my father any longer so she moved out into an apartment. While going through the divorce proceedings we learned that we were being placed with my father because my mom vacated the house. We testified numerous times about how abusive our father was and begged the judge to let us live with our mom but my dad had his friends slander my mother and say things about her that weren’t true. His friends would testify in court that my mother was a severe alcoholic and a drug addict which she was not. They described my father to a T then painted my mother as him. I remember I missed my mom so much all the time, there was nothing stopping my dad now. No holding back the amount of damage he could do to me. I remember him telling me, “your mother isn’t here to protect you anymore”. I was terrified. My mother left some of her belongings in the house, one thing in particular I remember most clearly. She always wore a perfume called White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor. One day in particular when I felt lonely and scared and missed my mom I sprayed her perfume in the house and closed my eyes tightly. It felt like she was right there with me. I felt safe and secure as if she was holding me and protecting me from the monster of a father I was stuck with. My father walked in the door shortly after and screamed, “who let that ****ing ***** in my house” speaking of my mother like that to me. I quietly replied, “she wasn’t here. I sprayed her perfume” he then grabbed me by my neck and slammed me into the wall and started to beat me until he got tired. I knew I needed to do something but I didn’t know how. I called my mom and she in turn called the police who showed up to the house rather quickly. A deputy sheriff arrived his name was Officer Van Ells. I was a mess and crying trying to explain to him what happened. I was once again called a liar, this time by an officer of the law. I began to think that nobody cares there is no hope I felt defeated. Officer Van Ells returned a few hours later and I answered the door and asked if I could help him to which he replied, “I just want to make sure your dad didn’t kill you yet”. I was absolutely floored. Was he mocking me? Was he making fun of my pain? My life? My sorrows? Making a joke at my expense. It was heartless and cruel and that is when I started to not trust the police. That is when I got into the mindset the police aren’t there to help the victim but the attacker.

I’m 15 now my mom isn’t allowed to see us because my father won’t let her. I am being blamed by him now for my mom leaving and being targeted more often than not. I’m so used to the physical and emotional abuse at this point I have gone into severe depression. At this time in my life my father started dating a woman named Sheila, whom my father had been cheating on my mother with for years but my mom did not know. When Sheila was around he was a halfway decent man and I thought that she was a good thing in our lives she treated us well. One day my father asked what we would think if Sheila moved in, and of course I was ecstatic and excited because she was nice to me. Throughout the months my father and Sheila had discussed her moving in and I had gotten my first job. The establishment was Yanni’s gyro and custard. John, my boss was a hot-headed Grecian man but he was also very kind he never did me harm and treated me like a son. I loved my job. I would work long hours not to go home most of the time off the books or under the table as some people refer to it. After Sheila moved in my brother B. and I had been kicked out of our rooms and told we were going to live in the basement and Sheila’s daughters were getting our bedrooms. This is the first time my dad had put someone else’s children over his own and little did I know that this was Sheila’s idea. Sheila throughout the years I had found out how two faced and manipulative she truly was and so were her daughters. If I would eat without asking permission I would get screamed at by Sheila, then beaten by my dad or Morgan her daughter would tell on me for eating and it had the same end result. Getting punched kicked and choked was part of my daily life again. Sheila and my father would always sit around the house drinking and screaming at us telling us how worthless we are and how our mother is a **** or my mother was a ***** and we were never seeing her again. It was best to avoid home so I would rush to work right after school and work my normal hours and then more usually til 11pm after they had passed out. I explained to john about my home life and he was okay with me working so many hours some on the books some off I was like a son he never had. When I was this age I didn’t have a bank account yet so I had to have my dad cash my checks but he would charge me to do it. Sometimes if I didn’t give my check to my dad immediately it would go missing from where I put it. Later on, I found out Sheila had been stealing my checks and cashing them along with stealing money from my dad which she adamantly refused she did which would result in us being beaten again. At this age my father no longer would buy food for me in the house if I wanted food I had to purchase my own with my paycheck. I was so depressed all the time that I would eat to cope with hope I felt at this point in my life I went from 190lbs to 280lbs in this year which resulted in me needing new clothes because of my massive size. My father would take Morgan, Lexi, and S. (she is my younger sister) to go clothes shopping and buy them nice brand new clothes, but when it came to the boys, B., and I we would always end up at a second-hand clothing store. I didn’t have my mom there for me. I eventually bought a wall phone and plugged it in, in my room and would secretly call my mom late at night after everyone was asleep or I would be punished by my dad and Sheila. My father allowed Sheila to dictate what kind of relationship we would have with our mother. Most of the time she would not allow us to see her. But on these late-night calls to my mom I explained how bad things were, that the police didn’t believe me about the abuse going on at home etc. We started to plan my escape from that hell. As the days passed it would be normal work, school, the abuse. But one day I went to a football game and I noticed a man that I thought I had recognized. I stood there and stared at him and he stared at me in return both of us with a puzzled look on our faces trying to figure out where we had seen each other. Then it dawned on me, it was Tom Fechter. He was my camp counselor at the triangle YMCA from when I was all of 12 me and him had gotten along very well and he told me about his aspiring dream to become a math teacher. It was a miracle. Or was it divine intervention that someone who cared about me so much was now teaching at my school. We sat at the football game and talked about camp and life since camp I told him what was going on at home and he told me to come talk to him any time so that’s what I did, along with still planning my escape. Just like it always did I was being beaten again this time for something I ate again, maybe I was an easy target for my dad, but when I got home from work I was hungry and tired everyone was asleep. I decided to not wake my dad and made a salad and began to eat when I heard his bedroom door open. I frantically tried to hide my food from him as not to make him angry, but it was too late he already saw the food and I was in for it. He got in my face and started screaming, “you’re eating again fat ***, I told you that you’re not allowed to eat without my permission”. He then hurled my salad across the room and all over the floor and told me, “clean up your ****ing mess you pig” and I snapped I had to stand up for myself. I told him in a shaky voice but trying to assert myself, “you made the mess you clean it up”. The following morning, I went into Mr. Fechter’s room and told him all about it. He immediately went to the principle and told her what was going on at home not that I wanted him to, it seemed like nobody cared anyway. My suspicions rang true. My principal told Tom, “well what are we supposed to do about it?” and they did nothing about it.

I’m 16 now and I had work as my only escape and my mother and I had our plan figured out. I told John that it would be my last day working for him, not that I wanted to leave my job I loved it there. I started working as I normally would but this time after work I wasn’t going home. I finished up about 11pm and my mom was waiting outside for me. I got into her car and we drove away. She took me to my grandmothers because my mom’s house would be the first place my dad sent the police to look for me. I stayed with my grandma for a week and then went to my moms who in turn called my dad and said I was there and I was staying with her. My dad told her he wanted me home and I was not staying with her these arguments went on for days. My mom eventually told him that she would not make him pay child support and he agreed to let her keep me. Later on, he would send my other siblings to live with my mom also. It was the first time in a very long time that I didn’t have to fear someone.

I’m 17 now and living in Menomonee Falls, WI. I am going to a new school. It was really tough starting over at first but I was used to being a loner. That all changed after a while. I got into a group of the more popular kids and soon everyone knew my name. This was an odd feeling being popular, feeling important for a change. Life was good. I no longer had to worry about eating food and getting punished or stepping out of line and making a mistake to be punished it was an alleviating feeling not to have that fear weighing me down. I was doing good in school, I had great friends, I had amazing teachers. It was my first year away from my dad and I knew that I would not be going back to his home anytime soon. During this year of school, I did many things I will never forget. I was in choir and boy did I love to sing. Our choir was selected along with 5 other choirs to go to New York City and sing in Carnegie hall, where we would perform John Rutter’s Magnificat. Magnificat was a composure about god and written in Latin which was very interesting to learn and sing. I learned things like a double forte is not the same in all places. In our small choir room, we could achieve a double forte no problem but in a large space like Carnegie hall it was harder to achieve. It was an amazing time to be alive. During this year in school I did normal kid things. Our senior prank was a good one. We filled the elevator at school with ping pong balls with the help from a janitor. It turned out to be pretty hilarious a little costly but worth it. In this year, I also got my first steady girlfriend and I made a best friend who I thought was always there for me no matter what. This is my favorite year.

I’m 18 now and an adult. I received $90,000.00 as part of an annuity for my car accident. It seemed like I had so many more friends now (later I would learn they were friends for hire). Growing up I was a straight A straight edge student, but living with my mom gave me a sense of freedom to express myself. No pressure from her to be something she wanted me to be and I still hadn’t talked to my father. He didn’t attend my graduation. But now that I am free to express myself I picked up a few bad habits. I started to drink and smoke pot. I would disappear for literally months on end partying then randomly show up at my moms and stay there for a few days. Was I starting to turn into my dad with the drinking and the drugs. I was a young man and the world was my oyster I didn’t care at this point in time I partied all year. I travelled, I bought vehicles, I had my own business (which failed miserably I may add). This was 18. This was freedom.

I am 19 now and my mother grows tired of my ongoing antics and destructive lifestyle. It stressed her out non-stop but at that point in my life I did not care I WAS ALIVE. After so many months of tolerating this destruction and chaos surrounding my life my mom told me to go live with my dad and kicked me out of the house. I was devastated that I had only one place to go back to hell. I moved in with my father who I had not seen in a long time, much had changed. He no longer had Sheila living with him and had a new girlfriend her name was Betty. Betty was a lovely sweet woman who put my dad in his place and took none of his nonsense and disapproved of his behaviors and spoke out about it to him. We liked Betty. When she was around everything was okay, we had food, we had a calm life. When Betty would go home that’s when things changed. He would start binge drinking and doing drugs again but it was different in a way. I was invited to partake in drinking and drugs which I happily obliged it was the first connection I had felt with my father, a destructive connection but I did not care. My dad and I would stay up and party all night drinking, doing drugs, throwing massive parties everything was all right. But it wasn’t. This was the age that my father never abused me or laid a hand on me again. It all started one afternoon before I began my destructive behavior for the day. I was sitting in the living room with my friend Tyler. I don’t recall what I did to anger him that day all I remember is he stormed into the living room snatched me up and started pounding on my face and kicking me while I was on the floor. I backed myself into a corner. I was done, I had enough. I shoved my father on the ground and told him he wasn’t worth it and walked out of the house with no intention of ever speaking to him again.

I’m 20 years old now and back with my mom at her home I had stopped my destructive behavior and calmed down considerably. My partying days were behind me. I was going to college for culinary arts at this point and I loved it I have always had a passion for cooking and I was bettering myself although I was still smoking pot it was nowhere near as destructively as it was before. I was working two jobs one at Panera and the other at a janitorial company. Life was good I had money, I had life, I was pursuing my future. One night as I was heading to my dad’s house to see how he was doing after all he was my dad still and I hadn’t seen him in a while, my mother called me and asked me what I was doing. I explained to her that I was going to dad’s house to see him and see how he is doing to which she responded, “don’t go to your dad’s come to my house I need to talk to you”. Thinking nothing of this I hung up the phone and passed the exit to my dad’s and started heading to my mother’s house. When I got there nobody was home, the house was dark and empty. I walked in and sat on the couch and turned on the TV waiting for my mom to return home which she did about a half hour later. When she walked in she came and hugged me and told me sit down we need to talk. She led off with, “your father is in an ambulance and his house is on fire” my adrenaline started to flood my body. I stood up and bolted for the door with my mom yelling behind me, “take him some shoes”. As I got into my vehicle all the worst thoughts crossed my mind especially the last thing I had said to my father. Was it going to be the last thing I ever said to him? I started the vehicle and slammed on the gas and tore off towards my dad’s house like a bat out of hell. The entire way I was doing 90mph down windy back roads that were pretty dangerous to begin with but I did not care. As I got closer to my dad’s house a police officer flipped on his lights and started to chase me, I would not pull over. As I got to the house the police officer still behind me I parked the car and got out and ran to the ambulance the police officer chasing on foot yelling at me to stop to which I responded, “my house is on fire my father is in an ambulance and you want to **** with me right now? I don’t think you do.” I kept walking away from him and towards the ambulance. As I entered the ambulance there was dad, hooked up to oxygen and IV fluid he was okay and I was relieved. What a strange sense to have. Being relieved that someone who made your life hell every single day, who abused you constantly the feeling of relief that they’re okay. It’s a complicated feeling. The house burned to the ground that night and all the good and bad childhood memories burned in it. My dad told me for the first time that night that he was proud of me for what I was doing with my life and he loved me. The first time he has ever said either of those words that I can remember.

I’m 21 now and on probation for pulling some idiotic stunts and hanging out with friends that I probably shouldn’t have been. I had been an accomplice to these people unknowingly. They stole a culti-packer from some poor farmer’s barn and I happened to be there although not guilt free because I had willingly gone with them without asking questions or what we were doing. This is where I messed up my life. I ended up being charged with Party to a Crime: Theft of Movable Property and slapped with a felony. I felt like I had destroyed any chance of having a somewhat normal life. It is true but false at the same time.

I’m 24 and off probation. I have straightened my life out. I no longer hang out with those friends nor get in trouble. Once was enough for me. I’m living in Georgia with my mom and working at a lube shop. Boy had life calmed down a lot. While in Georgia I would frequent an app called whisper which is basically an app that allows you to post secrets anonymously and people respond anonymously. That is how I met my now fiancée. We talked for months on the app and through phone calls. I had made a decision one that I have never made before. I was going to fly across the country to meet a girl I didn’t truly know. It was exciting and scary at the same time but I did it. As I exited the car to enter the airport my mom said, “don’t be scared Danny, you never know, you could be meeting the woman you will marry”. It took me 13 hours of travel to get to Denver where she picked me up we spent every day all day with each other and it was remarkable. It was love at first sight.

I am 27 now, and through my life I have faced a lot of adversity for being who I was. These forms of abusive behaviors continued til I was about 26 but they were not perpetrated by my father. After I had started dating my now fiancée her parents did not agree with her decision to date me. They banned her from seeing me. It started off when I came up to CSC from Sidney to stay the weekend with her in her dorm room. We were planning on going to Mount Rushmore in South Dakota (obviously). The night before that her parents decided to randomly show up at the college and see me in her dorm. They tell me to pack my stuff and start to pack her things. After I pack they ask me to wait in the hall that they want to speak with meg. So, I was left sitting in the lobby on the 9th floor of high rise oblivious to the fact that they had just abducted her and just left me sitting there. After an hour or so I got an RA to let me into her room to grab my belongings. About two hours later they showed up again, only because Meg had lied and said I had the keys to the vehicle which she had. Her parents then said they will “allow” us to spend time together but I had to go to a hotel, which they bought the hotel room for me to stay in. Her family did not like me even though I had shown the utmost respect and answered any questions they had and always responded with yes sir, or no sir, or yes ma’am, and no ma’am. Throughout the relationship, it was a barrage of randomly showing up and questioning my intentions repeatedly to see if there was any variation in my answers. They even went as far as to tell my now fiancée that I was going to rape her, cut her up, then throw her in a ditch. How insane do you have to be to think that? That was not the end there. The last thing I remember them doing was possibly the worst and it was the breaking point for both of us. I was invited to Christmas by her parents. We go down in her vehicle and we think everything is going good. We are at the end of our little vacation there. Her father comes out and gets in the vehicle and I immediately say, “you taking me home George?” to which he replied that we were going to change the oil. I already knew what was happening. My phone provider had just shut off my phone because I canceled the contract. He had taken me against my will and I had no way of contacting anyone. It was a 5hr drive of silence until we got to Alliance at which time he informed me that I needed to leave the state and I was not good for his daughter and we were not allowed to see each other. I responded to his statement as calmly as I could and in this instance, I believe I said the correct thing. I told him, “if you love someone you don’t leave them to be alone.” It was silence for the rest of the ride. They had after all of this pulled her out of school, took her money she had been saving for years because it was in a joint account with her parents, took her vehicle and told her she was never going to see me again. Well that worked out great for them as we can tell now. She left and didn’t speak to her parents for a year. Meanwhile me being the guy that I am I told her, “those are your parent’s, it’s your family you cannot go without talking to or seeing them. They may do stupid things and not act correctly but they are your family and you only get one.” Her parents still don’t realize I am the only reason she speaks to them or visits (not to sound like a jackass) she continually tells me she doesn’t want to see them but I want her to have a good relationship with her parents because family is important. I continue to push her to get her to see her family.

My life was not just filled with horrendous acts perpetrated against me. I have a lot of good memories too. I chose to focus on the abuse to bring up a relevant topic in today’s society. There are children who are abused and nobody seems to care and listen but then there are children who feel empowered to call the police of a spanking (which in my opinion is needed sometimes, but not to go overboard with). In life, it isn’t just physical abuse which most people associate with an abusive relationship, but it can be sexual, emotional, mental, or financial abuse each one doing damage to the person living through it in a different way. Not many people can recover from these types of abuses and live a high functioning life. It is sad to see that people hurt so long ago cannot come to grips with what happened and find a way to move on or passed it.

Now on to the good stuff.

My life has been filled with miraculous moments and trips and meetings that have shaped me into the caring person I am today. The most prevalent memory I have, that I know began to shape who I am is the following. I was 5 years old living in Milwaukee. My mom gave me an allowance of $5 a week. Each week I would walk down to the corner store about three blocks away and get a few Chic-o-Stiks and then go to the flower and buy my mom a blue carnation (why blue I do not know). One week I headed down and saw this woman on the corning talking to lots of different people and them just ignoring her and walking away or stopping to listen and then walking away. As I got closer she made eye contact with me. I walked up to her and started to speak to me, she stated that she had no money and not a lot of food, she has cereal but no milk for her daughters to eat the cereal and could I please buy her some milk. I walked into the store grabbed a gallon of milk which used up all my candy money (hey I’m a kid and I loved Chic-o-Stiks, but it didn’t bother me). She was extremely grateful for me helping her promising to pay me back. I told her just help someone else who needs help you don’t need to pay me back. That was the defining moment in my life. That is who I am. I love to help people and don’t want a thing in return I just wish more people thought the way that I do. Throughout my life, I have helped multitudes of people with nothing in return although some people are really pushy about me taking money and I really hate it. I hate taking money for helping people that’s not why I do it, it also makes me feel like they believe by paying me they have repaid the debt to society of passing on the kindness. I will take the money and usually donate it or buy someone food who really needs it. I don’t know why I was chosen to take this path but I am taking it.

There are also a lot of good memories in my life. when I was younger we would always road trip from Wisconsin to Nebraska for thanksgiving to visit my family in Sidney. Those were always such boring trips. I hated the smell of cow manure and it was like torture being lost in a sea of corn and bad smells, and now its vice versa I actually work in the field that I hated and said I would never be able to do growing up. Despite the dread of the drive it was always a wonderful time for me. When I was 12 we took a trip to Venezuela. I got to see the Caracas for a day or two, then we flew from the Caracas out to Isla de Margarita where we spent two weeks. We had the opportunity to swim with the dolphins and learn about the culture. We went diving for clams and oysters, found pearls, tried new foods, and got involved in the culture. We had a wonderful time. It is an odd memory but, I remember when we landed on the island the first thing I did was go and buy a pack of Mamba’s. On a different note, while we were there the people overthrew their government and kidnapped their president. We were told all americans should go to the embassy and leave the country but my mom decided that we were staying. Her exact words were, “I paid ten thousand dollars for this trip and we are not going anywhere”. But despite the unrest in the country we ended up having a very good time for the most part until I got heat exhaustion twice. That was one of the best trips I have ever taken.

I am 27 now and even though throughout my life I have thought that I was okay and truly dealt with my childhood that was a lie to myself. I have never truly dealt with the anger the hatred the hurt the loneliness the self loathing. I have a wonderful person in my life pushing me to be a better person but it took a hard push for me to be able to see it within perspective. I was hurt, I did feel worthless, I knew how to love I just had built up so many defenses from over the years on how to deal with things. I learned to prepare for hurt, prepare for lonliness, be ready for it on a moments notice. Thank you dad for that. For making me hurt for letting people hurt me and not protecting me, for embarrassing and abusing me in front of your friends, for duck taping my mouth shut, for beating me nonstop over the years even when I have done nothing wrong. Thank you for choosing me to be your whipping boy. Thank you for emotional and mentally crippling me to the point I could not show emotion to the people who care and I could only show anger. Because of you I have never cried or released a single emotion, I was only allowed to show anger and hate. If I was sad I was angry, if I was happy I was angry. It is because of this I became so dysfunctional. I was unable to love myself because of you. I never knew my self worth because of you. I always tried to help people and make them feel better without taking the time out for myself to heal and cope. I helped those people in spite of you. I never got the love and affection I needed from you so I made sure to give it to others without thinking about my won emotional well being. I am coping now. I am not okay but I will be. I am learning that anger is not my only emotion, that I can show happiness without being abused; I can eat what I want, I can buy new things and I don’t have to deal with you buying clothes too small for me or deal with you calling me fat, stupid, worthless, disgusting. I don’t have to deal with your abusive nature. While I love you and care for you I want to wish the worst on you, I want you to feel the pain you have caused me I want you to hurt I want you to feel the pain so intensly that it breaks you like it broke me. In all reality that is not the person I am. I am kind, I am loving, I am caring and I would not wish that pain on my worst enemy, not even wish it on you because it was unbearable. You taught me through your abusive nature to be kind, to love, to care without judgement because you never know what someone is going through. Through your abuse I am a better man than you will ever be. I will not destroy and self sabotage relationships, I will not hate, I WILL NOT PUT UP WALLS TO LOCK OUT THE PEOPLE WHO CARE I JUST WANT TO SCREAM. ITS OKAY FOR BOYS TO CRY, ITS OKAY FOR ME TO FEEL EMOTION, I WON’T GET BEATEN FOR BEING SAD, I WONT GET CHOKED FOR CRYING I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU WITH THE BURNING PASSION OF A MILLION SONS. YOU ****ING BROKE ME YOU ****ING DESTROYED ME FUNDAMENTALLY. YOU IT WAS ALL YOU YOU ****ING BROKE ME YOU DESTROYED MY CONFIDENCE, YOU DESTROYED MY ABILITY TO LOVE UNCONDITIONALLY 20 ****ING YEARS OF IT. NO ****ING I LOVE YOU, NO GOD DAMNED I AM PROUD OF YOU. I TRIED SO DAMN HARD TO MAKE YOU PROUD OF ME. For what? To make a man proud of me that hates me? To make you proud of something you never have been proud of or wanted? Because of you I am lonely, because of you I am just dealing with everything and it feels like the weight of a thousand heart breaks and let downs. Because of you I never knew my true potential and what and who I could be. In spite of you I am becoming a good man. In spite of you I don’t want to hurt people because it does not bring me the joy it brought you to hurt those who only wanted love. Because of you I am still that scared little 5 year old boy being hurt for everything when it wasn’t his fault, because of you I am still that 5 year old boy who immediately thinks he wants to kill himself to escape the pain, but if I were to do that I WOULD DEVESTATE THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE ME. I wish more than anything I got more love and compassion to outweigh the things you had done to me. Its not all your fault though. Other people did it to me too and because I learned from you daddy it was okay to treat me like trash. You were my hero once upon a time, but now I see you for who you are and who you made me. You are a sad, lonely, bitter, angry, drunk, hurt old man. I love you dad but I do not forgive you, I do not think I ever can.