I was born on October 5th 1956 at Methodist Hospital in Dallas Texas. Everything went as normal as one would expect for a 1956 birth. I have very little information on my birth because my Mom doesnt talk much about it. For whatever reason, I know little about my birth. But I did arrive here and in good health as far as I can tell. Trying to think back as far as I can, I can remember my earliest memory was at age 2 years and it still stands out in my mind as if it happened a couple of days ago. I clearly remember my Mother cooking something on the stove and then I walked over to the coffee table and I saw a silver (maybe a zippo) cigarette lighter. I remember thinking that i didnt know what this was but remember seeing someone using it to create fire. Which to a two year old kid was pretty cool. And since no one was around except Mom busily in the kitchen, I ran upstairs with my new toy. I went over to the bed and grabbed the corner of the sheet and lit up the zippo. I dont remember what I did next but I sure know what happened right after. Needless to say I had just caughtthe house on fire. The next thing I remember was I was standing outside the apartment beside my Papa and I vaugley remember him saying something to the effect of going to jail or fire bug or something but I just cant remember exactly what he said. I do remember being very scared. I remember the fire trucks with their lights flashing.
We lived in the projects in west Dallas. It was a low income housing project and we were poor. Mom had 4 kids and I guess Dad wasn't around much and eventually would leave us all behind. I dont know the whole story behind that because my Dad died when I was 18 and I never heard his side of the story. Just Mom's side. So for whatever reason, Mom is a single Mom, with 4 kids, in the fifties, which is not the best situation for anyone to be in. Mom was a very attractive lady with a very beautiful smile and could probably have any man that she wanted. She was always dressed to kill. Very few men could resist her. She decided to marry a man named Frank Sneed, a plumber who, at the time, made very good money, and I guess this is what attracted Mom to this man. I dont know all the details but from the projects when I was two, to a small house in Oak Cliff when I was around 6, the memories are very vague. A few, but vague so I wont go into detail on them. But now I am beginning to start my life here at 3423 Falls drive in south Oak Cliff, sometime when i was around the age of 3 or 4 years old.
Its normal on the outside in every way. Its a very small house with a clean cut yard, a few flowers, and a couple of mimosa trees with a one car garage. Not rich, not poor, but the first family on the block to get a color TV, and never going without a meal. Not a bad place to be in the sixties. But walking into that house on Falls drive, was a completely different story.
At the age of 4, I am in the formative years of my young life, and the next 8 years are very complex, maybe bliss, sometimes happy, even a few warm memories, that still to this day give me a very deep happy feeling, But, inside this home was a nightmare. A horrible home that no child should ever have to live through. Living here was like no other hell you could imagine. At least if you were a male child. We were taught very early on that females are special and you were never to harm them in any way. Never hit or abuse a girl and always treat them with respect. I have no problem with this advice from Mom but what about the boys? Always seeing the girls get what they wanted and being treated like Prima Donna's and the boys being abused not only confused me but made me very resentful of the girls. I developed a Mother complex early on and I guess it was because I was so afraid of Frank that I leaned towards Mom, I guess because at the time, her mental abuse was less painful than Franks physical abuse. This just semmed to confuse me even more. But I seemed to feel safe around Mom and even tho I never recieved anything emotionally from her, I just cling to her very closely.
Of course I have good memories but they are few. I remember that I was a bubbly, happy (and probably dorky) kid that was very creative and a very curious kid, Always thinking and always wanting to do something, anything. I just wanted to do things. It didnt matter what, just doing things, whether playing or talking to the neighbors or just running, I couldnt sit still. I always wanted to do something. It just seemed like everything fascinated me. Maybe by todays standards I would be diagnosed with ADD and put on Ritalin or something. But it was fun being very curious and fascinated by everything around me.
I can still remember our next door nieghbors,who were the complete opposite of our family, Mike and Ann Hibler and their two children Patty and Robert. The one memory that stands out the most to me about our nieghbors was every weekend,rain or shine, and never fail, was the smell of Mike's barbeque and the smoke that drifted into our backyard. It smelled so good and you could always set your watch by it come Friday and all the way through Sunday, Mike's grill was smoking away. I can remember wishing that just once, Frank would cook some food outside on the grill. Frank never did anything like that and he didnt have a lot to do with Mike. I honestly remember wishing Mike was my Dad or Frank would at least be like Mike. I was a confused kid. Looking back now I always wondered why Mike was sometimes reluctant to share his cooking with us, since they seemed to be good friends with Mom, but now I know why. He knew what was happening in our family and tried to keep his distance.
I made a lot of friends while living on Falls drive and I was not shy like I am today. I wanted to know everybody and everything. That was fun to me. I guess Phil Garrison and Gary Dutton were our two best friends. Me and Donny did just about everything with our two friends. Sleep overs,six flags,swimming etc. Some really good times as a kid were with these guys. They would be considered to be a step above us in life. For whatever reason, I dont know why, but thats the way it was. They were better than us according to Mom. We would be reminded daily from Mom that we were not as good as Phil and Gary but we should strive to be that good. Memorable quotes from Mom still stick in my head to this day and I know them word for word. "Why cant you keep your room clean. Phil and Gary do not have dirty rooms. Why cant you keep your room cleaned like Phil and Gary?" Those were pretty common lines Mom used on us all the time with only a few changes. If we were acting bad or not minding, it would be "why cant you mind like Phil and Gary." Other times when we were not minding or what I think was us just being kids, Mom would pinch the flesh on our arm with a twisting motion, then call us "a sorry slut." Countless times I was called a sorry slut and that I would never amount to anything. Hearing this as a young child and hearing this all the time, would tend to give a person an inferiority complex. Well, it sure did. So needless to say, to this very day, I cant help but think that everybody else is better than me. Beaten down and constanly told you are no good and will never amount to anything is how a person gets a low self esteem. If you tell a dog over and over to sit, eventually he will sit. Thanks Mom.
I have always been very close to my brother Donny and still am to this day. We had a very unusual relationship because we are both alot alike and we just stayed close all through our life. He was 2 years older than me and from day one he was always looking out for me. Nothing or no one would ever hurt me as long as my brother was there. He was very unselfish when it came to me and I got a great sense of security just knowing he was there. But, he was a sibling and he did the normal mean things that older brothers do to younger brothers. But the good far out weighed the bad in our case. I never understood why he would always go so far out of his way to make sure I was safe and happy no matter what the cost. Believe it or not, with a few exceptions, but this is still true today. The one thing that stands out in my mind is that my brother loved me unconditionally and never condemned me for anything and that stands true even today. That is a wonderful feeling and I am honored to have one person in this world love me that way and nothing can ever take that away.
The warmest memory I have of Falls drive is christmas time. We got everything we asked for at christmas time. We didnt get alot during the year, like the girls did, and I never had a birthday party for myself, at least I cant remember one, but we got everything for christmas that we asked for. I look back on it now and with Mom being married now to Frank who provided us food, and a home, and nothing else, it must have been very hard to provide us all with nice christmas gifts. You always made sure we had a good christmas. I know you had to go behind Frank's back to do it, so I take my hat off to you Mom for that. But unfortunately, thats all.
I dont really know why Mom married this man but he was willing to take a woman with four kids and provide them with a home and food. Thats where it stopped though. He played no part in raising us except for one thing. Frank was a child abuser. He physically abused me and Donny.
I dont remember when or how my first beating started. I dont know if I was beaten at a very young age but cant remember or it just evoled as a way of life. But it did just become a way of life and something that I struggeled with every day of my life and I remained in constant fear of this man. Frank was a strong man with very large arms. He had enormous strength. He was a plumber by day and a cop by night. I remember many times I would be sitting in the living room and Frank would come home from work and when he would walk through that door I swear my heart would feel like it was about to jump right out of my chest. I would always start shaking inside from fear and being a child, I couldnt run away from him. I was under constant stress and fear from this man eveyday of my life. I knew something wasnt right with this and it couldnt be normal. But there was no one I could talk to about it. No one I could call to help me with it. After all, this was the sixties.
There is a difference between punishment by physical force as a spanking, which is not considered child abuse, and a beating that comes while a young child is sleeping. Whippings were with switches and not belts. Small thin switches with little nubs on them, that would cause the most pain and largest welps. I learned at an early age what the word welps meant. On the back of the legs between the buttocks and just above the back of the knee. I dont know why they were called welps but I still remember what they looked like. Most of them would be oval shaped about the size of a silver dollar and they would be filled with pus. Which made it very uncomfortable to sit down most the time. Most of the beatings were while we were asleep so we would be in our underwear so it was all flesh being ripped. Nothing in between the switch and the flesh to make it more tolerable. I still remember sleeping and drowsily being awaken by the covers being pulled back in a smooth quick jerk. I would know what was coming next. The beatings would last for what seemed like forever. Us screaming "Please stop Please stop" but no one else in the family would say a word. Mom would always be there watching and would only seldom say a word.
Most of the time we were told to go out back and get the switches ourself and if it were to break during our beating, then Frank would go get the switch this time and we would get another beating that night.That happened several times.
Many, many times i went to school with thick pus filled welps on my legs and besides the pain, trying to hide them while wearing shorts was not easy. I remember clearly my friends at school would always laugh at me. They made sick jokes about the pus inside my welps. Constant teasings eventually made me better at dealing with these cruel kids because I realized one day that if I could handle being beaten by one of the strongest men that I knew, then I could handle a few punk kids teaseing me. Teachers didnt do anything about it or ask any questions. I guess their mentallity was that if I had marks on my legs from beatings, then I must have done something to deserve it. So, they would not get involed. But this was the sixties so I guess this was acceptable.
You could never imagine in your wildest dreams what it is like being a young innocent child going to bed at night and waking up to someone beating you with a switch in the middle of your sleep. And Frank was a very strong man with huge arms and bi ceps and he never pulled back from beating us with his enormous strength. Most the beatings would be for stupid things like us forgetting to bring the empty garbage cans to the back yard. Waking up to a beating time after time has left me scarred for life and I have tried to deal with this every way that I can but it wont go away.
As the years went by I learned a way to make the beating durations a little shorter. I suffered from asthma and several times had to go to the emergency room for it, so one day I had an attack while Frank was beating me and I tried to scream, in between the screams of pain, to get enough air to scream "I cant breathe" and he suddenly stopped. He didnt like it but he did stop. I can still remember that look in his eyes when he couldnt finish the beating. It was a pissed, unfinished,unfulfilled,angry look. I will never forget that look. I think he got some kind of power trip off of beating us and having to stop without it being his decision, must have made him angry. I remember one time hearing Mom telling Frank to stop, while I was screaming "I cant breathe". But she said it in a way that sounded to me like it wasnt out of concern but that maybe she was just tired of hearing me screaming. But it worked and after awhile I realized I could use it most of the time to get a shorter beating. But there was one problem with that. Frank did not finish my beatings as I was glad for, because all he did was make Donny's beatings longer to compensate. He got what he wanted. The beatings lasted for years.
As you know, if you have a young boy, that when they pee, they will pee all over the lid and on the floor but not much in the commode. But thats just what little boys do. No harm in that. Right? Well, Frank had grown tired of us boys peeing on the lid (and I can understand this, but not the punishmment) and he said the next time he found pee on the toilet seat, he was going to make me wipe it off with my hands...and then lick it off my hands. I wasnt too crazy about the taste of my own urine but after a couple of times, i made it a point to lift the lid everytime. His form of discipline worked but I really question the method.
Frank never spent any time with us nor did he do anything that you would do with kids. We never went on vacations. He never took us fishing. He never took us to the movies. Never sat down and talked to us about anything. Never said we were good or we were good at anything or we could one day be good at something. Never took us to the circus. Nothing. Not ever,ever,ever,nothing.
Frank did provided us with a roof over our heads and food on the table. And he was very good at that. Sometimes working two jobs to do it. Maybe you could say thats why he never spent anytime with us or did anything. Frank only had time for one thing. Abuse. He made time for that.
Frank has been dead for over 20 years now. Nothing can ever changed what happened all those years. What happened to me and my brother was a crime. I dont know what made Frank do what he did but it doesnt change what happened. This kind of abuse effects your life and you can never forget it no matter how hard you try.
Every now and then I still feel the pain in my legs from the abuse even tho its been years since my last beating. I will be sitting down and for an instant my mind drifts and I can feel the welps on my legs. It only last a second or two because I know now its not real anymore. I guess its kind of like when a man loses his arm , and for years after, they say they can still feel their arm itching. Trama is very hard to get over in your mind.
I am 51 years old now and I have 3 wonderful children that I love with all my heart. I have to ask one question. How could a parent sit back, watch and not say a word, while their very own child is being physically abused? Beaten. Bloodied. Abused. I dont care if its the 60's or today...NO child should ever have to go through that. Well Mom.... how could you sit back and let Frank beat us until our legs would bleed and not do anything? How could you hear the screams of your little boys crying in tears "please Frank, please stop", and not do anything? How? I do not understand. I do remember a couple of times hearing you say "Frank, thats enough". Wait a minute. WHAT? Enough? So its allright for a child to be beaten by a man with a switch on naked legs until they bled, until YOU think its enough? How about "Frank, dont you touch my kids or I'll blow your fucking head off". No, I cant understand that and you are the only one who knows but you wont ever talk about it. It would never change anything that happened but I just want to know. I think you owe me that.
I would come close to believing that there was nothing you could do because it was the 60's and you had 4 kids and he did provide support..IF...you had'nt abused us too! Mom...how many times did you twist the flesh on our upper arm and call us a sorry slut? How many times did you compare us to Phil and Gary and wish we could be like them? Wow. that really makes someone feel important. How many times did you take 5 minutes out of your day to spend time with us? How many times did you try to nurture us by teaching us what life is about. In other words what is right and what is wrong. No one ever taught me the difference between being a good person or being a bad person. How many times did you sew a button on my shirt for me. How many times did you say "eveything will be ok" after I fell and hurt myself instead of saying "you sorry slut pay attention to what you are doing". And one more thing. I NEVER once...EVER...for the whole time we lived on Falls Drive, did I EVER hear the words...I love you.. NEVER. Not once. I repeat. Not once. Always being told you "were no good" and you are a "sorry slut" and never giving even 5 minutes of your time all boils down to mental abuse. I might half way understand the punishment from you and Frank if not only did you two abuse us but maybe spent some time with us doing kid things to balance it out. Still wouldnt have been right but it would have been better for me and donny at least.
So you were the mental abuser and Frank was the physical abuser. There was sexual abuse too, but thats a door that I cannot open.
So I was mentally,physically and sexually abused. Wow. What a great life! So Gina, the next time you want to say to my face "David you know if you and donny would have had the same advantages that my kids have now, maybe you would have turned out better" Turned out better??? Turned out better??? How could you say something like that to my face? Just how bad did I turn out? Do you think I am a failure? What standards are you judging me by?
I think I did OK considering the hell put on me from the day I was born by YOUR Father. I'm sorry, you have no idea what i am talking about because the girls were always immune from the abuse. I dont have any bad feelings from the girls being immune from the abuse but next time you think I am a bad person or I didnt turn out right, remember that it was your father and not mine.
Being happy is the most important thing in life. I live my life without doing any harm to anyone else in this world and I survive everyday on my own and I am happy. And thats my philosophy on life. Dont hurt anyone else and be happy.
For some reason all my life I have just wanted to be as close to all my family as possible. It hurt me as the years went by we all grew apart. My last lingering hope has always been Thanksgiving. At least its something to help me feel like a family. But i have realized that just being around for a holiday doesnt make a family. A family stays together through thick and thin over the years. Always there for each other in their times of need even if its just to say "Hey, I love you"
I made hundreds of trips to your houses over the years to see you and I never got anything in return. You know, Nanny did the same thing and I asked her one day why she did that when no one but me would ever come visit her, and she said, "I am doing it for myself. It makes me feel good" I guess i was doing the same thing Nanny was doing. But thats what bothers me, then if no one would come visit nanny or me then it doesnt make them feel good. No love lost there I guess.
Gail, Gina and Mom (not Greta) was at least there for me at the one lowest point of my life and I thank yall for that but there is just more to it than that. The picture is getting clearer and clearer now.
When I first started writing this I felt good about my family and I knew their shortcomings, just as they know mine, but as the writing went on, the buried memories started to come out, and even memories that I never remembered until now. It has been very painful writing this and I am embarrassed to say that several nights I have cried from the painful memories. While writing this I have been reliving some horrible and painful events that I have completely forgotten or just blocked them out over the years. Other than a few thoughts that I couldnt pass off over the years, I am opening up after more than forty years and accepting what happened to me as a child. It doesnt make anything any easier, it wont change a single thing, and it wont make me a better person but maybe I can bring the truth of my child abuse out in the open now and deal with it and put it into the proper perspective. I am not looking for sympathy, just understanding. This has made me realize the role my Mom and my sisters played throughout the years and that I must have been surpressing it because I have a very deep resentment now and it wont go away.
"Child abuse" can be defined as causing or permitting any harmful or offensive contact on a child's body; and, any communication or transaction of any kind which humiliates, shames, or frightens the child. Some child development experts go a bit further, and define child abuse as any act or omission, which fails to nurture or in the upbringing of the children.
The Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act defines child abuse and neglect as: "at a minimum, any recent act or failure to act on the part of a parent or caretaker, which results in death, serious physical or emotional harm, sexual abuse or exploitation, or an act or failure to act which presents an imminent risk of serious harm."
Did you know that now days if you are a witness to child abuse and you do nothing or do not report it, then you can be charged with a felony? Well, Mom, you are guilty! You did Nothing! Why? You never will talk about it so I dont know why you would let me and Donny get abused. So i must draw my own conclusion from it, and thats what I am going with.
51 years and never one phone call from you Mom.
By the way, Phil is a homosexual and Gary is a drug addict. Still want me to be like them Mom?