He Missed My Heart

This is the third post in a series within a series. If you are a new to this blog, you may want to go back to Another Young Father Falls to get the background for this post.

Repression can sometimes be misinterpreted for resiliency. Repression can have its benefits, especially when you do not have the time or energy to process past events. However, repression can lead to depression, which has the potential to do all kinds of damage, even death.

Dreams are a common characteristic of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Often these dreams do not make any sense. However, sometimes a dream is so real, so vivid, that it can change perceptions of past events. Such was the dream about my father (adopted).

First, why would I have such a dream? The last years of my father's life, he was a very sweet and kind man, very good to the grandchildren, and concerned about all of his children. He had many physical problems due to being overweight and years of very hard work. The dream was related to what I have struggled with my entire life -- my self image. The dream was a result of his form of discipline.

Texas, as in most states, it is illegal to use physical punishment against a foster child. In foster parent training it is stressed over and over, "do not hit the kids!" There are very good reasons for this. Children who have been abandoned or abused do not interpret "spankings" the same way as a birth child. Even with birth children, the effectiveness of corporal punishment is very limited and can do more harm than good.

My dad would use spankings, which became beatings to gain and keep control. He probably thought he was doing the right thing. It wasn't unusual at the time to hear sermons about "sparing the rod." I would often hear a preacher say, "I don't remember a time when I didn't deserve the switch." My situation is different. I don't remember a time when I deserved a beating.

My early beatings were with a belt, and the most common reason was "showing out." One time after being a ring barer in a wedding on a Saturday night, (the preacher's daughter), Sunday afternoon I received a severe beating with a belt. I must have been doing something silly at the reception, but whatever it was didn't deserve such a severe punishment.

My parents were on the cover of the preacher's book, "Marriage is for those who Love God and One Another. " Imagine the pressure when you make the cover of the preacher's book! So I think part of the beatings had to do with not being perfect.

Another group of beatings had to do with irritating my mother. My brother, two years younger, and I fought all of the time. He would do something "stupid" and I would punch him (wonder where I got that idea?). I regret very much the way I treated my brother growing up. So my dad would race home and as he entered the house he would find his weapon of choice (belt, tree limbs, my sister's Bataan, etc.) and the beatings would begin.

Hair became a major issue when I was growing up. My brother and I wanted to wear our hair at least to the top of our ears and down in front, but our dad wanted us to maintain the Brylcream look. I would go to the table to eat breakfast, if my hair was in my eyes, whack, I would get the back hand.

The last time I was hit, I was a senior in high school. I was supposed to be in the senior play, however, I was grounded. My brother and I went to a church activity forty miles from our house, and didn't return immediately after the event. It was my brother's fault. I was ready to go, but he didn't show back up until thirty minutes after the event was over. When we got home we were grounded. The next day I received a phone call from one of the guys from high school needing me to come rehearse. My dad was standing there and I asked him if I could go. He said no because I didn't come home after the event. I said it was my brother's fault and whack, a fist across the face. This time I did something very different, I stared at him, and with my eyes dared him to hit me again. He backed away. I told my friend that I couldn't be in the play, hung up the phone and walked away. I often though about what it would have been like if I had stood up sooner to my father's abuse.

I went on to college, got married, had three children, yet I never felt comfortable in the presence of my dad. Like I said, he became a very kind man, and was there for my wedding and the birth of my first born. We had many enjoyable family dinners together until he died. But I never was able to feel at ease around him.

The message of the dream to me was clear. My father abused me, "but he missed my heart". No matter how I was treated growing up, I still had my heart. I had repressed the affects of those beatings most of my life, and have had to do battle against negative thoughts.

After doing some research and reflecting on my past, it dawned on my that I thought I deserved all of the negative things that ever happened to me. I was being paid back for the death of my birth father. "It's not your fault," says the psychologist.

I am very grateful to my parents for adopting me. Our family life might have been quite different if they had had the training that foster/adopt parents get today. I gained an understanding of my father's behavior towards me when I learned that his own father was very abusive to him. After understanding, comes forgiveness, which I did long ago. I went through the process again after the dream.

The most important issue is that I broke the cycle of abuse with my own children. Feelings have often surfaced when my kids were being kids, and I would want to backhand them, but with the strength that comes from my eternal Father, I resisted.