powerful

Hi Maggie,

I know you are many, many states away, gathered with family, preparing to say goodbye to SIL.  I know 5 of 9 of us made it down to B#1's, so 6 of you will be together. I will be praying and crying with you at 2:00.

I took a shower this morning. There is a great pleasure in turning off thoughts and feeling warm water on my back. But that is when thoughts creep in, uninvited.

Today I was thinking about sexual abuse of infants. How do we identify it, especially when we are older? I was thinking there must be a particular series of symptoms, markers. I was thinking about the CSI type shows and looking for minute evidence, for indicative evidence.

As infants, we don't remember. We can't tell anyone.  But we carry it inside of our minds and our bodies for the rest of our lives.

I wondered if it were possible to analyze the common series of markers, the typical set of symptoms for someone who has been used sexually as an infant, for someone for whom objectification began right at the very beginning of life...

So I left that train, and suddenly remembered a book we had to read in seventh grade English. It was called Mrs. Mike.  If I remember a young girl, a teenager, with lung problem was sent to stay in Alaska to heal..She falls in love with a Mountie, maybe. They have two babies who die of diptheria. There was a lot of attention to the harshness of life in the north. There was the death of her babies. She went home to the east, but then she went back to Alaska. I think it was about strength of mind, about strength of character.

And I started wondering why our teacher wanted us to read this book.  I wondered if he wanted us to realize our lives were pretty tame and civilized by the books standards.  We had it good...

And then I remembered one day when our teacher, who was a big, athletic guy, got frustrated with one of my classmates.  I remember the classmate...he was a small guy, probably one of the smallest of the boys.  And the teacher told him to come to the front of the room, put his hands on the blackboard. And the teacher got a long wooden paddle, with holes drilled in it to cut down on wind resistance, so it would hurt the child more, and he hit the boy several times. He swung so hard his jacket swung away from his body.

It is amazing how certain images burn into our brain. I can see them both perfectly.  If we went to that school, I could show you which classroom it happened in...

And my classmate remained silent while he was briefly beaten in public. He walked away there were some tears, but no uneven breathing. He already understood how to be tortured in public. He understood that not only was this adult intending to cause pain, he also meant to control our behavior by causing humiliation.

Instead of teaching us that we had pretty good, civilized lives, that teacher taught me to be silent in the face of violence.  He taught me to bow down in fear to superior force. He taught me that he could not be trusted, and that power can not be trusted.  He taught us that life might look good and civilized, but actually our lives were full of violence on every front.

I am so glad I homeschooled. I think paddling is now illegal, but power still finds way to control.

I love you. I wish I were with you, but since I am not, I hope I get something productive done today!!

Love and hugs from Clare