Harry's personal story
I was born in NZ 1955 as the 3rd of 5 children. My life (and siblings) and fathers was forever damaged by our abusive mother. Later in life she would mendaciously claim that she was emotionally generous but more realistically it was only ever the period of self-appeasement that filled the space left over from her abusive storms or the still and ominous place either side of it. She would also later claim that she did her best and would point out what she had to put up with which was; her children. When I told her at that time that my marriage was heading for the rocks as had happened to my four siblings already, her reply was “bingo”. It was always and only ever about her.
The abuse metered out at home was mostly verbal. The tongue is better than the strong hand or the fist as it leaves no clear evidence behind and can easily be denied along with the physical slapping and shoving that leaves no apparent injury. The spark for her episodes could be anything real or contrived. The verbal abuse was the full suite of acrimonious accusations, intimidation, shaming, belittling and name calling and when all that was finished then we got spitefully blamed for her being upset and made to grovel and apologise before being further punished by whatever penalty could be found. I’ve re-read this and asked myself is this dramatic exaggeration but it isn’t. The details of the many many events could fill books and some would seem unbelievable.
On many occasions we were reminded by her that we were a burden and that it was a mistake to have had so many children. We were pressed into daily household chores at every chance or pressed out of the house. My brother and I had outside chores too so “go out to the shed” was part of the after-school instruction. Our eldest sister helped with dinner and attending to our two young sisters but quite often that was done on her own or with our father while our mother wallowed in bed in sulking self-pity. Our eldest sister was our single point of affection which was quietly extended to us.
Our father was stoic in that frank and deliberate sort of way. He was frequently pulled into the fray by our mother’s wind-ups and on those occasions, she wouldn’t be satisfied until that stoic resolve and dogmatic belittling, or else a belting, cowered us kids. He avoided trying to mitigate his wife’s storms as that would result in it coming down on him. He could stand up to his children but it was clear to us that he couldn’t stand up to her.
On many many occasions we woke at night to listen to our mothers abusive and vitriolic tirades against him and bawling fits that she could sustain without pause. On one vividly remembered occasion we five children were dragged into the conflagration and forced by our mother to pick which parent we would go with. The damage was permanent. On another occasion my father broke down in despair to us his children and lamented “what am I going to do?”. To appease her selfish demands, he bought her things that many women didn’t get; nice clothes, jewelry, appliances, a car, expensive overseas holidays and capitulated to her demand that she should have her own bank account while his personal expenditure was on a shoe string. Ironically though, they both stood up for each other; fear and benefit aligned with “Honour your Father and your Mother” and that fitted the catechistic dogma that overshadowed our life.
We went to a Catholic Primary School and got taught by loveless nuns wielding anything that might hurt in order to indoctrinate the mind and soul of their charges. Everything that characterises the failings of the Catholic Church was there to be seen with abuse of the vulnerable top of the list. At home our father filled his empty spaces with religious fervour that sometimes bordered on the monastic but it aligned with his very Irish mothers’ religious devotion and his devotion to her. Why is unclear since she never gave the slightest affection to him. We went to church each Sunday and at home we did the full range of worshipful obligations come what may. Priests visited for free meals and money in exchange for divine instructions but this stopped after one of them had an affair with our Aunty. Punishing a family isolated by religion was easy but punishing those isolated within the religion was even easier. Ostracism came fast from priests at church level and nuns at school level and classmates following the beat of the drum. Stigmatisation is easy too when you have an agenda, impressionable minds and a target. Nothing was said at home.
Years went by and the situation morphed. Adolescent children were failed and failed miserably. I was lucky and had some touchpoints that changed my perspective and delivered opportunities that I wasn’t going to miss. When the indentured apprenticeship (diesel mechanic) that I started at age 15 eventually finished I took up an engineering cadetship and night school classes. I left home at 19 and initially lived in the same town but then moved to a cottage in the country. It wasn’t long though before acrimonious life instruction sought me out “since I lived in the same district”, and sought to bring me, my ambitions, my friendships and my independence down. A confrontation with my parents resulted in their physical and abusive attack which was resisted with refusal.
About 8 weeks later I immigrated to Canada at age 21. I was out but would eventually settle down to life (and citizenship) in Australia in 1977. For my four siblings, their marriages all failed and for two, their health and welfare collapsed under the weight of psychological disorders and alcoholism. For them the trail of damage has sadly been passed to the next generation.
The big story of my adult life is another matter as I look now with wife and two adult daughters and their children. Our son died just after turning 5 from a brain tumour that metastasised into bone cancer and many more problems followed. With all that accumulated in me I looked to professional help on several occasions but to no avail. Who could understand my journey? Somewhere along the way I developed advice to myself which was and continues to be my guiding light “I will never let anything or anybody take away the good life I am entitled to”. I prospered, eventually finishing my professional engineers’ qualification at age 34 and went on to a career as a Project Manager in the manufacturing industry which was highlighted with some of the best industrial facilities in our country. Big complex projects delivered successfully. Was it dogged success or the great escape?
Through that time after leaving home I did visit back to NZ occasionally but the rhythm of the relationship that was made to be the responsibility of the children was unchanged. My father died about four years ago and I returned for his funeral. It gave me the opportunity to talk to my mother about what was going on in our childhood and why. I thought there was certain to be a major problem not shared with us children. But she was adamant that health and welfare were fine and no disloyalty occurred but she did reveal that she was badly affected by homesickness for the high-country town and familiar life of her wonderfully happy childhood.
After the funeral my mother took my youngest sister into her modest house saying she needed somewhere to live and that it had been our fathers wish. My sister’s life was a trail of wreckage and failure with severe alcoholism on top of the black pile that life had left in her mind. It wasn’t long before the domestic arrangement showed all the signs of an angry child’s revenge. Acrimonious grudges became very abusive exchanges and eventually physical violence that was hard to believe when a bruised and injured 84 year old great grandmother had to flee her home. I was informed and phoned my mother to encourage her to evict my sister for the many reasons to do with my mothers’ safety and welfare. But the following day my eldest sister called and let me know that my entreaty to her had been rejected with the words “that …… isn’t going to tell me what to do”. The arrangement continued and the behaviour repeated and repeated. Police and welfare agencies became involved each time but my mother wouldn’t assist any action against the drunken daughter that abused her. My eldest sister was back and forth to them wanting to make everyone happy but in so doing was hiding the truth which soon leaked out. The angry exchanges were being instigated and escalated by our mother. She didn’t want to move to an old person’s home but wanted to stay in her home and to do that she wanted our sister to live with her and do as she was told. I concluded that my mother had seen an opportunity for a free cook and maid but her target, our youngest sister, was hopelessly vulnerable, homeless, moneyless, an alcoholic and carrying the black burden of a childhood damaged by the person that she was to serve.
Eventually an injury brought her to hospital where she blurted out her accusations not realising that under Domestic Violence Law the hospital had to report the information to the police. Police arrested and jailed my young sister. The full scale of the concern and danger that I had warned my mother of was realised but she still sought to get her free help back. Nothing had changed when it came to our mother; It was always and only ever about her. She lived her life demanding others carry the load and that they respect her and make her life comfortable and trouble free, which all through our childhood was the burden left to our father and to us as her children but when it didn’t measure up, she became abusive and destructive and blamed everyone else for it.
There are some similarities here with the stigmatising and bigoted agenda using public funded malpractice that is damaging our society and so many good men that are deemed as not measuring up or not in the “look at me” orbit or not with a microphone in their hand. There are just as many good men as good women in our society and it’s time to stand up together. All of us deserve to be respected and celebrated not just some selected group that gets used in order to discriminate against the rest. Remember, stigmatisation is easy when you have an agenda, impressionable minds and a target.