Empty Memories

Not even the scrapbook recalls the love ….. turmoil of emotional child abuse


emotional abuse 2In the quiet evening, your mind strays to younger days. Nestled in the love seat, you think about the lonely life that has lead you down the paths of disillusion. There in the confusion, disconnection is a way of life. Heart wrenching, love was in limited supply; not much to go around and rationed like a commodity. It was not associated with warmth but instead, related to the flowers or gardens.

You would sit in your room and play by yourself. Looking out the window, your mother is in her polka dotted blouse, dark slacks, and her garden gloves. She loves her tomatoes and corn on the cob. You just watched …. sitting inside. She never knew the love you desired or saw devotion because it was all about money – how much dad could bring home. You were too young to understand but you knew that love wasn’t suppose look like that. Looking back, you never heard, “I love you”, as you went off to school or while saying your prayers at my bedside.

Animosity seemed to rule the roost. You listened to your friends as they shared their stories on the way to school. They went out over the weekend and as you knocked on their door, you knew they would not be home.

You would have given anything for your parents to include you in their plans. But to throw a ball or enroll you in a curriculum outside of the classroom wasn’t going to happen. Sadly, you would come home and play while most of your friends played at the beach. Softball was the sport.

Yes, it’s sad as those from broken homes look back. You swore you would never do that to your own children. Now those days are long gone too and all that’s left are voids. Not even the scrapbook recalls the love ….. just tarnished empty pages. The snapshots are faded memories you just as soon forget.

For now, life is all but over; the mid-drift spreads and the hair turns gray. Thoughts are all that’s left, like trash to be thrown away. And here you sit as life goes on.

 


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Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. (Psalm 127:3)

Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged. (Colossians 3:21)

Whoever troubles his own household will inherit the wind, and the fool will be servant to the wise of heart. (Proverbs 11:29)

Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)

 

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Editor’s Notes:

Signs of Emotional Child Abuse:

 

  • Not showing affection.
  • Ignoring the child’s presence and obvious needs.
  • Ignoring the child when he or she is in need of comfort.
  • Not calling the child by his or her name.
  • Making the child feel unwanted, perhaps by stating or implying that life would be easier without the child. For example, a parent may tell a child, “I wish you were never born.”
  • Ridiculing or belittling the child, such as saying, “You are stupid.”
  • Threatening the child with harsh punishment or even death.
  • Continuous verbal abuse.
  • Comparing the child to siblings or peers.
  • Blaming the child for family problems.

 

Ignoring children’s needs, putting them in unsupervised, dangerous situations, or making a child feel worthless or stupid is child abuse. The result is serious emotional harm. But there is help available!

Parental Alienation Awareness Organization: http://www.paawareness.com

Prevent Child Abuse America: 1-800-CHILDREN or preventchildabuse.org
http://www.preventchildabuse.org/images/docs/emotionalchildabuse.pdf

 

emotional abuse

 

 

When The Shades Fade

…..dreams create the reality we live in


In the misty rain of an early dawn, you get a call at work. A soft gentle voice on the other end of the phone frantically sounds, “My water broke!” You jump in your car, speeding home to get her to the hospital. It’s not long and a baby cries. Life’s cycle begins again.

You stand in front of the nursery window and wonder, what will this child become? Will he be in technology? Or enter in the electoral college, or join the Forces? Get a degree in the name of your father and carry on like his grandfathers did? A tear evolves as the joy of God has created the offspring you dreamed of.

Before you know it the training wheels are gone and your little man has found his first taste of freedom. So proud of your child, he reminds you of you, and God has blessed the memories left behind. He smiles and waves goodbye; again, the tears you try to hide. Little does he know your days are numbered, shaded and faded by illnesses that only God controls. Then a young man’s dreams are shattered standing at a cemetery holding momma’s hand.

It’s not just children, though, that face blunt force. I think about the entrepreneurs that have tried and failed. And the geniuses that quit school. My heart goes out to kids who only hear, “You CAN’T”. I pray for the dreamers who’s shades are faded when God opens doors; they are afraid to take a chance. Giving up is never an option as dreams create the reality we live in! The fascination comes as the shadows fade; prayers are all that’s left. When God steps in and blossoms your creations, your dreams will graciously unfold.

Tried and tested, we all aren’t that lucky… but heaven knows we are all gifted in one category or another. You might be a street sweeper, a worker in a mine, or deliver the paper to a local community. Do the best you can! Take pride in yourself as dreams evolve with God’s help. Miracles happen as easy in church as the back alley of a big city. It’s prayers, not a steeple, that God hears.

Be blessed, I say unto you, for He has surely anointed you. If that strength has not yet come, be advised to run, as your dreams will carry you….or they will surely fade away.

Shades Fade


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Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known. (Jeremiah 33:3)

Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands! (Psalm 90:17)

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1)

Fifty Years of Broken Pieces

Can we ever break the chain of disaster, the aftermath, generations later?


Fifty Years of Broken Pieces

Rocking back and forth, staring at the stars, they sparkle and bring such luster below. Solar lights glimmer in the dark. The moon, almost full, shines from the heavens and glows on my patio. Thinking back to childhood, sin abated my older brother and I. We are God’s chosen but we carried the hell our parents created. Never understanding, we would walk to school in the early sunny morn’ and home in the afternoon to the rain and thunder. We were unable to explain or comprehend them.

But my big brother was lucky for he ran away — as far as you can imagine – to the Mediterranean. He hid at the bottom of the deep blue with fish and monsters we’ve never seen. I wasn’t so lucky. I went a couple of miles down the street to the community college and faced the music every night.

Long after Pop’s passing, I was sheltered in reality; the past haunted me. There in my mother’s Polly Anna world of bridge clubs and egg nog, a socialite amongst her pillars, I was lost in the waves where the grain wasn’t so amber.

My brother married, leaving me in confusion of the future where only God knew the outcome. But coming from a broken home and then a complete loss, I had nowhere to run. Marriage was the only vise, but failure after failure left little hope. My brother and I both shared the consequences of our parent’s passing long after he was gone.

But yesterday, fifty years later, my brother now writes, “We commemorate that by grace, together, we have somehow come this far; and still today we miss our father’s love. He didn’t share in our lives as we suffered in our tribulations.” Sadly, I responded to my brothers thoughts, “I cannot imagine where we might be had our ladder been labeled by our father’s love.”

Today I think about all those who will relate. Can we ever break the chain of disaster, the aftermath, generations later? Looking at the repercussions from six decades ago of the final decree, disgraces me. To believe they were watching out on our behalf is almost comical, if it wasn’t so sad. So many children are left like Lord of the rings, begging for attention; hungering remains where hearts are left empty. Today as close as two siblings can be, (without killing each other), our love and respect protects us.

In the end, as the sun sets on another commemorative year, I just pray… may God bless, not just us, but all the lonely, parentless children whose lives are unfulfilled; for He knows those who hunger for salvation, still…..

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http://www.desiringgod.org/articles/to-the-sons-and-daughters-of-divorce

BIBLE:  But you say, “Why does he not?” Because the LORD was witness between you and the wife of your youth, to whom you have been faithless, though she is your companion and your wife by covenant. Did he not make them one, with a portion of the Spirit in their union? And what was the one God seeking? Godly offspring. So guard yourselves in your spirit, and let none of you be faithless to the wife of your youth. [Malachi 2:14-15]

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Where The Dogwoods Blossomed

…piece of history dedicated to things that will never change – Severna Park memories


My father bought a project, in a faraway place, around the bay in Maryland. I was three years old. It looked like we were moving out of the big city to a little community where I knew no one. One cold day, I packed my toys and some clothes, disgruntled that I had to move. My life caved. I was moving away from my best friend. I saw little importance of being stuck on a cliff and all the rules that implied.

Unaware of the significance of growing up in a little place called “Round Bay”, my father took on the challenge of remodeling a turn-of-the century covered dance floor on Eagles Nest Point. Sitting on a cliff, overlooking the water, our weekends became filled with hammers and saws. Mom, I remember, wasn’t very happy living on the old wooden floor, so she would cover it with rugs. It wasn’t much to look at, as I recall; just a roof and a floor but my father was planning to turn it into our home.

It took many months to rebuild that old pavilion. The story goes that in the summer, rich people would come to dance the night away overlooking the Severn.

Eventually… trying to make my mother happy, which was never easy, my father, then bought and constructed a house next door. Bless his soul! Most knew it as the “Smith’s”, but it was the “Bick’s” home first.

I guess I was five, when I was the only one to survive going over the cliff, on my tricycle. That was enough for mom! Things were sketchy and not long afterwards, mom and dad split up. My dad left and we moved to our third home on Waters Road in Round Bay. It was perfect because in the interim, my buddy and his family, moved from Randallstown to just down the road.

My good memories are plentiful. On the 4th of July, fire engines would parade through the neighborhood; in December, folks would gather to canvas the community singing Christmas carols; and then there was Yardley’s annual telephone book – which we now wish we’d held on to!

I watched as Round Bay blossomed after 1953. The swimming meets and festivities at Main beach; and boats turning from wood to fiberglass. Just a brief funny memory…. some years later, after mom remarried, My stepfather, Skip and I went to the Eastern Shore. He had a 12 foot row boat built for me for $125.00. Made of spruce, it sank every season until it swelled.

About 7 years old, we moved away from Waters Road. This time, my dad bought a house for mom, my brother and I, on Riggs Avenue in Olde Severna Park. He paid $12,500 in cash. Moving from Sunset Knoll, in Pasadena, we headed back to Severna Park.

Thanksgiving 1958, mom remarried. It was my stepfather, Skip’s birthday. I guess they chose that date so he wouldn’t forget. Confusing times back then… my dad disappeared; I didn’t know why.

Somewhere around 1960, we moved back to Round Bay onto Laurel Rd, right above “dead man’s curve”. My little brother was born in 1962. I was at Bea and Larry Cranes house – great friends of my parents. I’ll never forget when Mrs. Crane came running outside. I was on my bike, and she was yelling, “It’s a boy! It’s a boy! And it’s on my birthday!”. The stupid things you remember…

The Cranes and my stepfather’s family, the Carr’s, played a large part in St. Martin’s in the Field Episcopal Church. Ironically, there silently stood in the vestibule, my dad’s name engraved on the golden shovel.

My dad passed away in ’65 – a terrible loss to any child. Now I commemorate his life. A man with such vision who played an intricate part in the community. Very few know that. Someday, I hope to retrieve the golden shovel. It no longer stands in the entrance of the original church.

Skip, my stepfather, was a great man; one I could say that his reputation preceded him. He started out in real estate in 1958, moving into a little red house up on the hill, behind Dawson’s store. Skip started working for Tommy and Cliff at the age of 14. He helped support his mother after his father passed away. Born in a house on the B&A, outside of Berrywood, there remains a statue to his legacy.

In 1971 or ’72, mom and Skip bought their final home at the water’s edge by the pier. He thought he was getting ripped off, paying that much money for a house. Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. What an investment!

Proudly, I’ve spent a large part of my life as a little piece of Severna Park. I graduated from Severna Park High School in 1969 and was raised in a wonderful environment. This is an honor to share my true story with you, my friends and family…..dogwood blogThis little piece of history is dedicated to the things that will never change, my memories.