(For the girl I lit the candles for)

I was going to open with discussing scenes from two movies – Forrest Gump and Good Will Hunting. But I think I’ll just say this one upfront – there was parental abuse – physical, mental, emotional. The parents weren’t like this all the time, only when stressed or things weren’t good  (which was unfortunately quite a bit). My father is from a wealthy family by Third World standards and my mother is from an extremely poor one by the same standards. It wasn’t a Cinderella story. When they were in a normal state, they looked ok, even good. But that’s how abuse works. It rears its ugly head when it wants to.

I really don’t let this part of my history define or affect me too much and have rarely spoken about the details.

But here it is.

I was caned repeatedly since I was a very young child. Almost all the time, it was for some minor or benign incident such as spilling a cup of water, crying before going to my kindergarten, or not getting a high enough grade on a test. My mother was the major culprit, she would look demon-possessed when enraged. My father would either look away or also take out his anger and frustration on me. My aunt, who helped raise me, had to hide the cane in order to protect me.

The physical abuse ended in 7th grade when I grabbed the stick my mother was going to use on me for another trivial or non-existent offense, broke it, and threw the pieces back at her. In her foolishness and poor judgment, she once rubbed chili peppers in my eyes to keep me from blinking. One time, I was playing too close to an iron and the consequence was my mother burning me with it.

The emotional abuse was longer-lasting. In addition to the yelling and screaming, both parents said things to me that others have described as cruel and evil – that I was ugly, that no one would marry me, that no one would come to my graduations, that no law school would accept me, that my work as a lawyer wasn’t good enough. My mother would barge into my room in the middle of the night while I was sleeping to ask whether I was saved. My father would just stand by and do little to nothing at all to stop or address her behavior.

They also made me at one point note down as a kid all the mistakes I had made during the day.  You know how I got so good at remembering facts from all my cases and other projects? This is one of the reasons. Most of the memorable things I did would mostly be ignored, downplayed, or even criticized. They were just really stingy with everything – affection, acceptance, praise, finances, love. They treated me as an asset more than a son. I sometimes joke that my brother dog gets better treatment.

I played two-and-a-half years in RM’s jazz ensemble, one of the best in the county and also in the pit orchestra for the spring musicals. If I count correctly, I played a total of eight times in front of a relatively large crowd. A good friend had parts in the musicals and his parents attended each of the performances. They heard me play my guitar more than mine did. My parents (and I think it was only my father) only came to one of these performances out of an irrational fear that I would become a rock musician (and if I was actually talented enough, may have been a happier life). On a somewhat funny note. I was made to sign a document stating that I wouldn’t follow the rock band route in exchange for being allowed to join the ensemble.

As the older child, I received most of the brunt of my parents’ behavior. I’ve also been left alone since I was 6 because they either didn’t have enough money for daycare for two kids or didn’t want to spend it. It was scary. One time, a man who was harassing our family and had previously vandalized our house made a threatening call that I picked up. I was still 6.

Terrifying.

When confronted with their behavior, my parents mainly downplayed, gaslit, or asked cheaply for forgiveness without real sincerity, repentance, regret, or accountability.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way. In a sad way, the beatings in all their forms helped give me inner fortitude, toughness, and strength to draw on at times. I’m also glad that my brother received a lot less. He doesn’t really appreciate or acknowledge it. But if it wasn’t me, it would be him. I could take it, like a dark knight.

This is also one of the reasons I dedicated a significant portion of my life to protecting others, especially those in a vulnerable or weaker position.