Growing up I broke my leg at 18 months. My mother told me I was reaching for a book on top of a piece of furniture. I fell. My leg went under the dresser, twisted, and the book came down and broke my leg. Apparently it was a very big book. Years later my mother let it slip the police questioned my father because the break was too clean. I was too young to remember. It was the only time in my life I broke a limb but all I recall is a photo of my father holding me and a cast that went from my chest down to my ankle. <\/p>\n
As I grew older I wanted less and less to do with my parents. They made me feel trapped. And my father scared me. I felt as though books and school were the only places I could get away and find me. My parents seemed to drain my energy. More then that again, my father scared me.<\/p>\n
There were also these mixed messages. I was supposed to be a lawyer, make money, yet somehow never leave from underneath there roof. The constant reminders from my father that everything in my room he could take away. Even when I started working in middle school baby sitting local kids and in high school I worked for Spencer Gifts, I really didn’t earn my own money. He gave me a car and helped pay for it, and could take it away if I did not obey him.
\nMy getting good grades in school, never getting into trouble, never dating or having friends over to cause problems didn’t change my father’s attitude. Somehow I was supposed to go make money but never leave home.<\/p>\n
Luckily I had a female friend Dini who pushed me to take chances. We both applied to a summer camp in Connecticut as assistant counselors and got accepted. My father almost did not let me stay. I spent a summer working with autistic kids. It was difficult but rewarding. I came to realize how strong I am. A kid broke my glasses and scratched my eye, yet I did mot hit back. One kid bit me, and again I remained calm. Maybe years of dealing with my father’s outbursts of violence made me numb to it, or it was just I rationalized the actions of the children as the actions of an animal uneducated in the ways of civilized men. An autistic child can’t comprehend the effect of their actions. I would later find in law school that knowing the effects of one’s actions is one definition for insanity as a defense, well close to it. By the end of the summer I liked the kids, despite the scratches, bite, broken glasses. They were lives living on a different level or perception of existence.
\nSometimes I feel like that is how I am now. Living on a different point of view with few comprehending who I am, why I’m in pain, and how their actionsare hurting me. Actually sometimes I think they know the pain I’m in, but either don’t care or think I deserve suffering to make up for the bad deal they were given. All I can do is continue to be me. I’m better off when not at my parents home. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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