Wednesday – The Whooping
Jul. 15th, 2009 01:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
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My kid brother Ron has always been weird, from the time he was small. My mother worried it was her fault. She was almost 39 when he was born and had scheduled a tubal ligation immediately after his birth, so he was induced in order to accommodate the surgeon's schedule. In addition to this, my mom's policy was to stop nursing her babies as soon as they got teeth and started to bite. Ron's teeth came in early, at 5 months old. She thought that taking him out of the womb and away from the breast before he was ready may have adversely affected him.
As a child, I was too guilt ridden to tell her that I was pretty sure it was my fault that Ron was weird, because when he was 4 and I was 5 I stood by and let him take an ass beating that I had coming and he didn't. Until Ron was in college and was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, I thought that perhaps this whooping had warped him beyond repair.
My mother died before she got the chance to learn that her youngest child was simply organically and physiologically strange, through no fault of her own. I was glad to be off the hook. Twenty five years after the whooping, I even apologized to Ron about the whooping. I hoped he didn't even remember it, but he did. Decency prevents me from typing out what he said I ought to have done to me for putting him through that, but lets just say he did not graciously accept my apology the way I hoped he would.
I didn't mean to get Ron in trouble that morning. It was a Sunday, and my parents were scrambling to get all 4 kids dressed and out of the house for church. I was already dressed and was puttering around while the rest of the family bustled about. I found my way into the bathroom where my oldest brother, Randy, shaved. If I was 5, it means he was 13 and had just started shaving. I found the can of shaving cream to be fascinating. I pushed the button on top of the can and marveled at the white cloud that emerged from the dispenser. I pointed it toward the bathroom counter and kept pushing, making the cloud get bigger and bigger. Then I got bored and put the can down next to the mound of white foam, and went looking for something else interesting to do.
Before too long, one of my older brothers discovered the mess and yelled for my parents to come see. Ron and I, my parents surprise offspring who came along as they approached their 40th birthdays, were collectively called "the babies" and were the immediate suspects. My father looked furious. His face red, he looked at me and shouted, "Did you do that?"
I looked up at him with my big sad eyes and shook my little golden haired-head no. I was the sweet child and his favorite, so he believed me.
"Ron, did you do it?" my father asked. Ron was red-headed and looked like my mother's side of the family. He was not hyperactive, but the attention deficit tendencies that would not be diagnosed for almost 2 more decades made him forget any task he was asked to do about halfway through it, which made him seem defiant in my father's eyes. The daughter of a family friend who used to babysit the two of us once commented that Ron was even an odd baby, and he didn't laugh and react with glee to things that other babies do. He always looked serious and slightly perplexed at the world around him. The truth is, Ron was a harder child to bond with and love than I was, and this worked against him.
When Ron shook his head no in exactly the same way I did, my father grabbed him by his arm and yelled, "Don't lie to me!" and proceeded to spank Ron while my kid brother cried and screamed, "I didn't do it! I didn't do it!"
Each denial only got him another lick.
I did do it and I felt pretty bad for what Ron was enduring, but wild horses couldn't drag the truth out of me at that point. I figured the whooping I would get for not only having made the mess but lied about it would be even worse than what my brother was getting. I still feel bad. Sure, it would have been noble if I'd stepped forward and taken my punishment, but at the age of five I cared more about self preservation than I did nobility.
As Ron grew and his cognitive peculiarities became more obvious, I just knew I was to blame. When the diagnosis finally came and I knew I was off the hook, I still felt bad about the shaving cream incident. We were sitting at a Starbucks drinking coffee when we were both in our late 20's when I decided to come clean.
Ron stared at me open-mouthed and then said, "You bitch!" Then he said some more stuff that made my own mouth drop open.
"But I'm apologizing! You can't hold that against me! I was 5!"
ADD is only the tip of the iceberg with Ron. He has other Autistic spectrum traits mixed in with it that make him rather unique. One of Ron's brain quirks is that he has no sense of context. Events in his life are not linear; they are lumped together at categorized by person regardless of the where and when of the incident. For example, because I teased him about his first girlfriend when he was 13, he won't introduce me to any of his girlfriends now that he is grown. Everything I've ever said or done to him – whether I was 5, or 10, or 15, or 35 when it happened – is tagged with my name and held against me as if happened a week ago rather than over the course of decades.
"I knew it was you! You should have said something! Dad was beating my ass and you just stood there!"
"I didn't want my ass beat," I said, "I was 5. Did I mention I was only 5? I think I brought that up. Anyway, it's water under the bridge. I'm telling you I'm sorry. Feel free to forgive me."
"No! I don't! You should have said something!"
"I'm saying something now."
"Now it doesn't matter, I got my ass beat then!"
"Shhhhh!" I hissed. Other people were starting to look at us. He quieted down, but continued to scowl at me for quite awhile afterward.
I'd like to say Ron has forgiven me now, but I doubt it. He doesn't act hostile toward me or anything; he just chalks it up as yet another reason that I, his sister, can't be trusted under any circumstances.
That's not what matters most to me, though. I still feel guilty about the spanking thing, but I can sleep easy on my having warped Ron beyond repair. The truth is, even if I'd 'fessed right up and taken my own whooping that day it wouldn't have changed anything. As he grew up he got plenty of other punishments for failing to obey directions he forgot he'd been given and failing to interpret body language and abstract concepts he couldn't understand.
That single unjustified spanking was only one of dozens he got that he didn't know the purpose behind. It was a one drop in a very full bucket of negative experiences for him.
Even without my help, my kid brother would still be weird. It wasn't my mother's fault, and it's not mine, either. He was born weird, and one of these days he'll die weird while still brooding over the day I sprayed shaving cream on the bathroom counter and he got a spanking for it when he was 4.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
My kid brother Ron has always been weird, from the time he was small. My mother worried it was her fault. She was almost 39 when he was born and had scheduled a tubal ligation immediately after his birth, so he was induced in order to accommodate the surgeon's schedule. In addition to this, my mom's policy was to stop nursing her babies as soon as they got teeth and started to bite. Ron's teeth came in early, at 5 months old. She thought that taking him out of the womb and away from the breast before he was ready may have adversely affected him.
As a child, I was too guilt ridden to tell her that I was pretty sure it was my fault that Ron was weird, because when he was 4 and I was 5 I stood by and let him take an ass beating that I had coming and he didn't. Until Ron was in college and was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, I thought that perhaps this whooping had warped him beyond repair.
My mother died before she got the chance to learn that her youngest child was simply organically and physiologically strange, through no fault of her own. I was glad to be off the hook. Twenty five years after the whooping, I even apologized to Ron about the whooping. I hoped he didn't even remember it, but he did. Decency prevents me from typing out what he said I ought to have done to me for putting him through that, but lets just say he did not graciously accept my apology the way I hoped he would.
I didn't mean to get Ron in trouble that morning. It was a Sunday, and my parents were scrambling to get all 4 kids dressed and out of the house for church. I was already dressed and was puttering around while the rest of the family bustled about. I found my way into the bathroom where my oldest brother, Randy, shaved. If I was 5, it means he was 13 and had just started shaving. I found the can of shaving cream to be fascinating. I pushed the button on top of the can and marveled at the white cloud that emerged from the dispenser. I pointed it toward the bathroom counter and kept pushing, making the cloud get bigger and bigger. Then I got bored and put the can down next to the mound of white foam, and went looking for something else interesting to do.
Before too long, one of my older brothers discovered the mess and yelled for my parents to come see. Ron and I, my parents surprise offspring who came along as they approached their 40th birthdays, were collectively called "the babies" and were the immediate suspects. My father looked furious. His face red, he looked at me and shouted, "Did you do that?"
I looked up at him with my big sad eyes and shook my little golden haired-head no. I was the sweet child and his favorite, so he believed me.
"Ron, did you do it?" my father asked. Ron was red-headed and looked like my mother's side of the family. He was not hyperactive, but the attention deficit tendencies that would not be diagnosed for almost 2 more decades made him forget any task he was asked to do about halfway through it, which made him seem defiant in my father's eyes. The daughter of a family friend who used to babysit the two of us once commented that Ron was even an odd baby, and he didn't laugh and react with glee to things that other babies do. He always looked serious and slightly perplexed at the world around him. The truth is, Ron was a harder child to bond with and love than I was, and this worked against him.
When Ron shook his head no in exactly the same way I did, my father grabbed him by his arm and yelled, "Don't lie to me!" and proceeded to spank Ron while my kid brother cried and screamed, "I didn't do it! I didn't do it!"
Each denial only got him another lick.
I did do it and I felt pretty bad for what Ron was enduring, but wild horses couldn't drag the truth out of me at that point. I figured the whooping I would get for not only having made the mess but lied about it would be even worse than what my brother was getting. I still feel bad. Sure, it would have been noble if I'd stepped forward and taken my punishment, but at the age of five I cared more about self preservation than I did nobility.
As Ron grew and his cognitive peculiarities became more obvious, I just knew I was to blame. When the diagnosis finally came and I knew I was off the hook, I still felt bad about the shaving cream incident. We were sitting at a Starbucks drinking coffee when we were both in our late 20's when I decided to come clean.
Ron stared at me open-mouthed and then said, "You bitch!" Then he said some more stuff that made my own mouth drop open.
"But I'm apologizing! You can't hold that against me! I was 5!"
ADD is only the tip of the iceberg with Ron. He has other Autistic spectrum traits mixed in with it that make him rather unique. One of Ron's brain quirks is that he has no sense of context. Events in his life are not linear; they are lumped together at categorized by person regardless of the where and when of the incident. For example, because I teased him about his first girlfriend when he was 13, he won't introduce me to any of his girlfriends now that he is grown. Everything I've ever said or done to him – whether I was 5, or 10, or 15, or 35 when it happened – is tagged with my name and held against me as if happened a week ago rather than over the course of decades.
"I knew it was you! You should have said something! Dad was beating my ass and you just stood there!"
"I didn't want my ass beat," I said, "I was 5. Did I mention I was only 5? I think I brought that up. Anyway, it's water under the bridge. I'm telling you I'm sorry. Feel free to forgive me."
"No! I don't! You should have said something!"
"I'm saying something now."
"Now it doesn't matter, I got my ass beat then!"
"Shhhhh!" I hissed. Other people were starting to look at us. He quieted down, but continued to scowl at me for quite awhile afterward.
I'd like to say Ron has forgiven me now, but I doubt it. He doesn't act hostile toward me or anything; he just chalks it up as yet another reason that I, his sister, can't be trusted under any circumstances.
That's not what matters most to me, though. I still feel guilty about the spanking thing, but I can sleep easy on my having warped Ron beyond repair. The truth is, even if I'd 'fessed right up and taken my own whooping that day it wouldn't have changed anything. As he grew up he got plenty of other punishments for failing to obey directions he forgot he'd been given and failing to interpret body language and abstract concepts he couldn't understand.
That single unjustified spanking was only one of dozens he got that he didn't know the purpose behind. It was a one drop in a very full bucket of negative experiences for him.
Even without my help, my kid brother would still be weird. It wasn't my mother's fault, and it's not mine, either. He was born weird, and one of these days he'll die weird while still brooding over the day I sprayed shaving cream on the bathroom counter and he got a spanking for it when he was 4.
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no subject
Date: 2009-07-15 06:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-15 07:10 pm (UTC)*sigh* I just should have kept my mouth shut.
Besides, the universe did right itself in a perverse way. The two sons who could do no right growing up can now do little wrong, and the two of us who were favored are now the black sheep. Surely that counts as some sort of justice?
no subject
Date: 2009-07-17 12:25 am (UTC)A reverse sort of thing happened to me and my sister. We were sent to get a pail of water and in lifting the drawing bucket out of the well and lowering it into the pail I deliberately let it drop hard on the bottom of the pail, because I was mad about being sent to the well.
When we got back into the house my sister told on me and I denied it. I probably said it was an accident. Then she got a swat for tattling. I think I've apologized and it didn't seem to affect us.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-17 02:23 pm (UTC)A calm, more reasonable response from the adults probably would have worked better at getting to the bottom of the matter and discovering which of us was guilty. My dad was "old school" when it came to discipline, though, and to this day believes that Dr. Benjamin Spock's son grew up to be a juvenile delinquent because he never got spanked (Snopes.com says this isn't so, but try telling that to my father).
no subject
Date: 2009-07-15 09:18 pm (UTC)Ron needs to pull up his big girl panties and deal.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-15 09:39 pm (UTC)He's not just A.D.D., he also seems to be Aspergers (high-functioning autistic) and maybe some other things all rolled into one. The filters he sees the world through are different than everyone else's.
I can't change him, so I don't sweat it. I have my own quirks, they're just not as obvious as his.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-16 11:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-16 02:41 pm (UTC)